Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Picture This

A thank you to all the readers who left comments or sent emails following my last post. It's sort of amazing to learn that there are at least two who live in the U.K. (I wonder if they know each other?) Still no word from Cole in Alabama, but I remain hopeful.

A special thanks to my pal Dave Wornica for helping me further "monetize" this blog. At this rate, I'll soon be making enough to buy myself a delicious dinner of Ramen noodles

A brief update on the finger: I've replaced the aluminum splint with one made of flesh-colored plastic. My middle digit now looks like a Hannibal Lecter finger puppet.

"And Senator, one more thing: Love your suit!"

I don't mean to sound like a whiny little bitch about this. I know there are men and women coming back every day from Iraq and Afghanistan with missing limbs and stuff, but I have to tell you: This is one of the most uncomfortable, annoying, difficult situations with which I have ever had to deal. I mean, we're talking about a finger tip, something smaller than an inch. And yet, for the next six weeks -- SIX WEEKS!! -- nearly every moment of my day is a hassle.

Bathing is the worst. First of all, I can't wash my hands. Ever. Doing so would require getting my right hand wet, which would mean having to re-tape the splint. Re-taping the splint means risking my finger's losing its extended position momentarily which, as previously mentioned, means beginning the entire healing process from scratch again. So for now I've stocked up on antibacterial lotion.

Showering is an ordeal. I have to bag my hand and seal it with a tight rubber band around my wrist. Since my right hand is useless, there are parts of my body I simply can't reach with the soap, like my left armpit. BW assists with this when he can. Sometimes he hoses me down with the shower nozzle, and I feel like Meryl Streep in Silkwood.  

Great rental, by the way.

It takes me twice as long as usual to wash a dish, cook an omelette or tie my shoes. Buttoning a shirt is an odyssey. Cufflinks are out of the question. 

But of all the new challenges to my daily routine, none is more difficult than turning the key in my car's ignition.  Right now some of you are thinking, "Why should that be so hard? I bet I could do that easily with my left hand." WELL, THINK AGAIN, MUTHAFUCKAHS!

In fact, I want you all to stop reading this blog right now, go outside to your cars and try using your left hand to turn the ignition. I'll wait until you come back. (New Yorkers, you can use this time to dust your apartment. I'm sure it needs it.)

As if this Ferrari were my car.

Are you back? NOT SO EASY, IS IT?! Not to mention you look like some sort of yoga-practicing mental patient to anyone who may be walking by.


Needless to say, it's going to be a long six weeks.

And now, without further ado, a plethora of photos I've been meaning to show you for a while, in no particular order:

Erik and Jim, dear friends of ours with whom BW and I traveled last week to the mountain town of Julian, famous for its pies. 120 miles roundtrip is helluva long way to travel for pie, and truth be told it wasn't as good as my Granny's. 

Erik and Jim, on the other hand, are delightful. They are also legally married in the state of California. That is, they are until and unless Proposition 8 passes on Nov. 4. 

Does the union of these two men strike you as one that threatens the very institution of marriage? If not, please do everything you can to make sure this hateful, unfair, unnecessary referendum does not become law.

A most unfortunate looking meatloaf I made for BW and CW. Trust me -- it tasted better than it looked.

And CW's reaction to it.

Me with my hair sprayed silver for a commercial audition in which I was supposed to look like a 40-something father of two. I didn't book the spot.

IMG_0530 by karsonstjohn.
Karson St. John as Barbie, me as GI Joe, and Roger Gobin as Ken in the North Park Playwright Festival's production of "Don't Toy With Me."

IMG_0526 by karsonstjohn.
Me and Karson looking sexy. (So we think.)

Gayest. Photo. Ever. Me with Queen Helene Mint Julep Masque on. It does wonders for the pores.

At the Laugh Factory, Oct. 3, 2008.
(From left:) Daniel Leary, his cute friend whose name escapes me but she looks like a young Beverly D'Angelo, me and H. Alan Scott.

All right, kids, it's past my bedtime now. (Which, sadly, is 9:30 p.m.) My finger is tired, and so am I.

On the unlikely chance that you don't hear from me again until after Election Day, please remember to get out and vote. Unless you're voting for McCain.

Homo (still) splinted.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Giving Myself the Finger

The good news: This blog page has now been viewed more than 10,000 times since I installed a counter on May 18, 2008. That's 10,000 views in five months, or about 66 views a day. That's pretty cool for a personal blog, though I'd certainly like more (like closer to 1,000 a day).

Given this milestone, I'd like to ask you, my readers, for a favor: Let me know who you are! I mean, I know who some of you are -- friends, family, fellow comics -- but then there are some, like Cole from Tuscaloosa, Alabama -- with whom I've never had any contact. I love that Cole is a Sanktastic devotee, but how on earth did he come to find me?

This is to say nothing of the countless nameless "lurkers" among you.

So I again beseech you: Let me know who you are. Leave me a blog comment. Shoot me an email. Tell me how you first came across this blog and why you continue (?) to read it. And while you're at it, click on some of the ads you see at the top and bottom of this page. That's how I make a few pennies (literally) off this thing.

Oh, and one last request: If you do like reading this blog, please recommend it to 10 of your friends. And if you're a blogger as well, please add Sanktastic to your blog roll. And then maybe in another five months, we can surpass 100,000 views.

Now the bad news: I injured myself today and am now living with a condition known as "mallet finger."

Just in time for Halloween.

Mallet finger is also known as "baseball finger," according to this article from Wikipedia, because people frequently suffer the injury while playing that game, or while playing basketball or volleyball.

I got it while taking off my sock.

I'm still not sure how it happened. BW and I were at Black's Beach, the gay nude beach in La Jolla. (While we were very gay, we weren't nude.) We had just climbed down the giant cliff and spread our beach towels out. I kicked my shoes off and then, in an attempt not to get any sand on my towel, I stood just at the towel's edge, lifted one foot up, flamingo-like, and began pulling at my sock. Then I lost my balance.

What I hit my middle right-hand finger with remains a mystery. Maybe I stepped on it with my raised foot. Maybe I somehow hit it with my other hand. I don't know. All I remember was a moment of blinding pain followed by total numbness.

And when I looked down, I saw my finger in the mallet position pictured above.
Sock it to me.

BW was totally freaked. He felt we should go to an emergency room immediately. But since I wasn't in any pain and REALLY didn't feel like hiking back up that cliff just yet, I called my father instead.

Lew, a retired pediatrician, just turned 73 yesterday. Happy belated birthday, Dad. I reached him in Boynton Beach, FL, where he and my mother are visiting my Aunt Bobbie and Uncle Herb after attending the Bat Mitzvah of my cousin's daughter, Alexa Ramer. (All Jewish relatives wind up in Florida sooner or later.)

First I got my mom's cell phone, which went to voicemail.

"Hi, Mom. Listen: ___ and I are on the beach, and I think I just dislocated my finger. Please ask Dad to call me back, because we're trying to decide whether we should go to the ER or not."

BW had a suggestion: Maybe we should text them a photo of the finger? (He's clever, that one.) BW took several photos before deciding on the one that best illustrated my deformity. Just as we were sending it, my voicemail alert went off; I had just missed a call from my mom. (The phone reception on Black's Beach is as pathetic as it is throughout the rest of this backward, godforsaken city.)

"Hi, dear," went the voicemail. "We're here at Bobby and Herb's. I see you just called me, but I don't feel like listening to your message. So call us when you can. Buh-bye."
After losing and regaining a signal several times, I finally reached her.

"Adam," she said, "you finally reached us. None of us can figure out what the hell this picture is supposed to be. I mean, is it some kind of bug? Why would you send us this?"

"Mom, put Dad on the phone. I hurt my finger."

"Lewis, he hurt his finger. Talk to him. No, YOU talk to him!"

Most maternal.

"Hi, big guy," said my Dad. "What happened to your finger?"

I explained the situation.

"It sounds like you broke a tendon," he said. "It's not an emergency, but I would splint it as soon as possible. And you need to keep it splinted for a good three weeks."


"Also," he added, "Bobbie and Herb say you should abstain from sex, too."

"No we don't! We didn't say that!" I could hear my aunt and uncle's voices screaming in the background.

My folks: New Jersey's answer to Stiller & Meara

Bottom line: My middle finger looks like a claw. It's stuck in an aluminum splint for at least three weeks. (Most of the sites I found recommend more like six to eight!) I have difficulty doing just about everything: Gripping a steering wheel, washing a dish, typing this blog post.

Oh, and get this: If I remove the splint for even a moment -- say to shower -- the healing process reverses itself completely and I have to start from scratch.

Basically, I'm totally finger-fucked.

Homo splinted.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A Low Down Dirty Shamu, Part 2

When we last left off, I was desperately trying to memorize a treacly, awkwardly worded script and an odious song in advance of an audition for Sea World's annual Christmas show.

I practiced hard. I really did. I can only imagine what our neighbors, some of whom are active military, thought when they heard a rather gay, off-key male voice belting Christmas music in mid-October. (I can tell you that BW and CW were themselves mortified.)

By audition day, I felt like I had the speech down pat but was still shaky on the song. I kept discovering odd new things in the vocal track. For instance, "Emmanuel" was five notes, whereas "He has come to dwell," the very next line, was six (the word "dwell" being split into two).

And there were several times in the song where I was expected to hold a high note for 16 counts. I simply couldn't. I ran out of breath each time.

Choosing an audition outfit was another ordeal altogether. I wanted to look clean, conservative, Christian -- basically all the things I'm not. After finally selecting a cherry-red button down shirt, khaki pants and black patent-leather shoes, I shellacked my hair into a square helmet and headed off to Sea World aboard Carmen, sputtering all the way.

I hoped to make a splash.

Upon arrival at the Hubbs-Sea Word Research Institute, I found about a dozen other people waiting to audition. Most of them were women. More than a few seemed to be current Sea World employees hoping, I guess, to earn some extra cash for Christmas.

One such person, a 22-year-old security guard named Ken, pulled me aside and asked if I'd like to run lines with him while we waited to audition. (This is typical San Diego behavior -- people are uncommonly friendly here.)

I found out that Ken worked the graveyard shift at Sea World. Every night, from midnight to 9 a.m., he patrolled the park looking for suspicious activity. For this he was paid $12.60 an hour.

There are worse things than being unemployed.

What suspicious things could possibly be happening at Sea World in the middle of the night, I wondered. Would people sneak in and try to fuck the dolphins? No, Ken assured me, but there was a problem with people using the parking lot after hours as a "lover's lane." That was how he put it: a "lover's lane." This struck me as so adorably 50s -- like Richie Cunningham parking with Lori Beth at Inspiration Point.

They told me they were ready for me, and Ken wished me luck as I was ushered into the auditorium.

A 30-something man and a 50-something woman sat one side of the room. In the middle was a microphone and a stand, which I approached.

"Hello," said the man. "We'd like you to recite the script first. And normally, our shows here at Sea World are big, loud energetic spectacles. But this one is more intimate and from the heart, even though it's in front of 5,000 people. So please keep that in mind in your read. Begin when you're ready."

I took a deep breath. As my Jewish ancestors spun in their graves, I began to speak in my most intimate and heartfelt voice:

"Hello, and welcome to to Shamu Stadium and our very special Shamu show!" (Pause.)

"Christmastime is here again, and what a wonderful, magical time of year it is. We are all touched by the wonder of Christmas..." (So far so good, Adam. They're smiling. They like you.)

"...from the promise of a visit from Santa, to the enchantment of presents that magically appear under the tree." (Did the guy just wink at me? Keep going -- you're booking this.)

"'Tis the season of..." (Carlos Gave Me Head. Carlos Gave Me Head.) "...caroling, gingerbread, mistletoe, and... (Carlos Gave Me Head. Carlos Gave Me Head.) "...honey."

The smiles disappeared.

"I mean... I mean... not 'honey' -- 'HOLLY!'"

They were now looking down and writing something in their notebooks.

Why did I say "honey?" I don't know. Maybe I was subconsciously thinking of Rosh Hashanah, when we Jews dip apples in honey. Maybe I somehow associating honey with gingerbread. Whatever the reason, I had blown it.

I ambled through the rest of the speech, stumbling a few more times, transposing some of the phrases and just generally stinking up the joint.

Not Christmas-y.

Now it was time to sing. Perhaps because I was pretty sure the situation was hopeless, I actually sang without fear. In fact, I sang my ass off! I remembered all the words and hit all the right notes and sounded a lot better than I had previously.

They thanked me, and I was ushered out by a young woman who told me to wait a moment. A small crowd of auditioners, including Ken, were gathered outside. "You were great!," he said. "We could hear you out here. You sounded much better than the guy before you!"

That was nice to hear.

The young woman reappeared. "Thank you very much for your audition," she said. "But at this time we are not going to be asking you to participate in our holiday program."

I nodded and shook her hand. "Thanks, honey," I said and headed out to the parking lot.

There were no lovers out there -- only Carmen.

Homo (still) out of a job.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

A Low Down Dirty Shamu

First a bit of attention-whoring: I am featured in the current (Nov. 4) issue of "The Advocate!" A writer named Neal Broverman did a nice little write-up of the gay show I did at the Laugh Factory last month, under the headline "Queens of Comedy" (p. 13). In it, he quotes two of my jokes! Woo hoo!

I'm in here!

This is my first mention as a comic in a national periodical. Sadly, the Advocate doesn't include all its contents online, so I can't link the piece here. If any of my technically-minded readers out there want to scan the hard copy and email it to me as a high-rez jpg, I'd be most appreciative.

About a month ago, I saw a Craig's List posting seeking holiday emcees and singers at Sea World. Having literally no dignity left and even less cash, I applied immediately. My audition date and time were set, and then two weeks later a large packet arrived by mail.

In it were a multitude of employment forms, a script and a music CD, along with instructions to memorize the latter before my audition.

The script seemed easy enough, if heavy on the sap:

Good evening, and welcome to Shamu Stadium, and our very special Shamu Show! (Pause.)

Christmastime is here again, and what a wonderful, magical time it is. We are all touched by the wonder of Christmas. From the promise of a visit from Santa... to the enchantment of presents that magically appear under the tree.

'Tis the season for caroling, gingerbread, mistletoe and holly. 'Tis the season to reminisce of Christmas past. This is the season to rejoice in the love and laughter of family and friends... from families here at home... to a soldier in a distant land.

Throughout the world, this special time of year brings us together as we turn our thoughts to peace, love and hope for the future. Joy to the World, Christmastime is here!

On second read, I took some issue with the writing style. "Enchantment" and"magically" struck me as redundant. Pick one or the other -- not both.

And what was with the non-parallel construction of "'Tis the season...," "'Tis the season..." and then "This is the season...?" Why two "'tis's" followed by a "this?"

Also troubling was the itemized list: Caroling, gingerbread, mistletoe and holly. Lists are tough to memorize, especially when they contain seemingly unrelated items in random order. Caroling is an activity done outside. Gingerbread is a food baked and (usually) eaten indoors. Mistletoe and holly are almost the same thing in my mind, except that the former is hung and kissed under, while boughs of the latter are used to deck the halls.

(Also, are mistletoe and holly really among the things people most look forward to at Christmas? Perhaps these are rare, magical enchantments here in this godforsaken desert climate, but back where I'm from we have mistletoe and holly coming out of our ass.)

And forget trying to use alphabetical order; it's ruined by the holly's coming at the end.

A problematic list, to say the least.

A) Caroling

B) Gingerbread

C) Mistletoe

D) Holly

It's like the verbal SAT for elves.

In the end, the best I could do was come up with the following mnemonic device:

Carlos Gave Me Head.

The song was another challenge altogether. I consider myself something of a Christmas carol aficionado. I am proud of the fact that I can recall by heart every verse of "The 12 Days of Christmas" (speaking of absurd lists) and countless other holiday ditties.

So it was with some distress that I didn't at all recognize the song I was tasked to learn: "Christmas Time is Here."

Now, some of you are immediately thinking of "A Charlie Brown Christmas," when all the little Peanuts screech in unison:

Christmas time is here
Happiness and cheer
Fun for all that children call
Their favorite time of year...

Would that that were the Shamu show song.

Instead, I had to learn an obscure carol by someone named Michael W. Smith. The lyrics follow: (Click here if you want to sing along, keeping in mind that there's an interminable musical intro before the vocals begin.)

Ring Christmas bells
Ring them loud with the message bringing
Peace on the earth
Tidings of good cheer
Come carolers
Come and join with the angels singing
Joy to the world
Christmas time is here again

Children gather around and listen
You'll hear the sound
Of angels filling the sky
Telling everyone
Christmas time is here

Ring Christmas bells
Ring them loud with the message bringing
Peace on the earth
Tidings of good cheer
Come carolers
Come and join with the angels singing
Joy to the world
Christmas time is here again

Loved ones close to our hearts
And strangers in lands afar
Together share in the joy
To tell the world
He has come to dwell
The time is near
With one voice
Let the world rejoice
Christmas time is here

Ring Christmas bells
Ring them loud with the message bringing
Peace on the earth
Tidings of good cheer
Come carolers
Come and join with the angels singing
Joy to the world Christmas time is here again

Children gather around and listen
You'll hear the sound
Of angels filling the sky
It's Christmas time is here again

It pretty much sucks, right? It's droning and repetitive and utterly lacking in melody. Moreover, it's arranged in a terrible key for me -- right at the break between my chest and head voice. At one point I have to belt a high E-flat -- not a note you ever want to hear me belt.

(Incidentally, Sea World didn't supply sheet music -- only lyrics and a vocal track. I had to use an online piano to figure out which notes I was actually trying to sing.)

Also, who the hell is Emmanuel? Is he, like, Jesus's black cousin? I had no idea.

Needless to say, I was daunted.

To be continued.

Homo out of water.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Where There's Smoke...

Partial transcript of phone conversation with my mother today:

(Phone rings.)

Adam: Hello?

Phy: Adam. What are you doing about the fire?

Adam: What fire?

Phy: There's a huge fire burning through San Diego! Look outside, for God's sake!

Adam: (Looking out the window.) Um, I don't see any fire. I was outside earlier today and didn't smell smoke or anything...

Phy: It's on the news! Your father and I are watching Charlie Gibson right now! It's a huge fire going all the way from San Diego to Los Angeles! TURN ON CHARLIE GIBSON!

Adam: Mom, it's only 3:30 here. Charlie Gibson doesn't come on for another three hours. But I'm watching TV right now, and it's not on any of the local channels...

Phy: Adam, listen to me. You need to get all your important papers together in case you have to evacuate. There are dangerous Santa Ana winds! THE FIRE COULD SPREAD TO YOUR HOME AT ANY TIME!

The view from my window, as imagined by my mother.

Adam: Mom, we live in the city -- in North Park. There's no brush anywhere near us. I'm pretty sure the fire you're talking about is up near Camp Pendleton...

Phy: Yes, Camp Pendleton! That's where it started!

Adam: Right, but that's 50 miles away from us. That's halfway to L.A.



Needless to say, I'm fine. The fire's under control, and it never came close to us. But I do appreciate the concern.

Apologies to all for being such a delinquent blogger. I'd like to tell you it's because I've been incredibly busy and productive and fabulous, but the truth is I've mostly been lazy.

Blogging is like working out. Do it three or four times a week, and it's no big deal. It makes you feel good about yourself and clears your head. But skip doing it for a week and it's nearly impossible to start again.

But here goes, and I'll attempt to catch you up on all major (?) events.

Had my second gig at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood on Oct. 3. Ken Kleiber, my dear friend and a major NYC TV and radio star, was actually at my first show there back in September and just emailed me what may be my favorite on-stage photo of me ever:

Cool, right?

Anyway, this time around was a total blast, save for one minor distraction. At around 11:45 p.m., 15 minutes before our show was to begin, I was standing in the club's lobby when a figure in a trucker cap walked past me. "Am I up next?," he asked the hostess, and she nodded.

My first thought: That guy is kind of hot.

My second thought: That guy looks kind of familiar.

My third thought: That guy is kind of Dane Cook.

My fourth thought: Aw, fuck.

All Cooked up.

It's not that I don't like Dane Cook. I do, actually. I don't subscribe to that whole, "He's a no-talent joke thief who doesn't deserve any of his success!" thing. Nobody gets that famous without a lot of talent and a tremendous amount of hard work.

But as a no-name comic myself, I know what happens when a major headliner -- in this case the current biggest comic on earth -- shows up for a "surprise" set right before you're supposed to go on. About three years ago, I had to follow Patrice O'Neal at Carolines after he showed up to do a "surprise" 45 minutes. In front of a mostly black audience. You can guess how well I went over.

Sure enough, Dane did about 45 minutes. And that meant the people waiting outside to see the gay midnight show were still waiting out there at 12:30. A number of them gave up and went home. Oh well -- that's comedy.

We still had a nice (mostly straight) crowd, and I got to do 15 minutes, which is a rare treat for me at a major club. After the show, as Boy Wonder and I were waiting for the valet to fetch our car (Ah! The joys of L.A. life...) a guy came driving up in a Ford GT. It looked like a fucking spaceship.

The driver, a nondescript middle-aged guy, jumped out and bounded over to me.

"Hey, man, you're so funny!"

"Um, thanks, I said."

"Hey, could you do me a favor and say hi to my girl?"

"Um, OK."

With that he flipped up the passenger door to reveal an absolutely stunning young woman.

"Hi, I said," reaching out to shake her hand, "I'm Adam."

She looked a bit frightened.

"You're, um, boyfriend wanted me to say hi to you."'

"Hi," she said quietly and turned to face forward.

As they sped off, I asked Boy Wonder: "You think he thought I was someone else? Like maybe Dane Cook?"

"I don't know," BW said. "But you should have gotten in the car."


A whole lot cooler than my 97 Passat.


Speaking of Carmen, she's back at Ron's Auto Clinic tonight. BW and I noticed yesterday that she was belching thick clouds of vapor through the air conditioning vents. Ron tells me it's the heater coil. The only non-expensive way to repair it is to shut the heater off permanently, which is not the worst thing when you live in Southern California. Let's hope we don't get some sort of freak cold spell this winter.

Seriously, does anyone out there want to buy me a car?


My San Diego acting debut has come and gone in the form of "Means to an End," part of the North Park Playwright Festival. It went great, but I can't remember the last time I was so nervous on-stage. Acting and stand-up are very different. The latter is a conversation between you and the crowd. It's interactive. The only person you have to act like is yourself. If you fuck up a joke, you can say, "Wow, I fucked up that joke." And the crowd laughs and you move on -- no big deal.

But in theater, you have one and only one chance per night to get every word and movement perfect. If you fuck up, it creates real problems -- not just for you, but for your fellow actors and the play.

The funniest line I got to say in the play was: "Being naked means never having to say how aroused you are." It's an obvious twist on Ali McGraw's famous line from "Love Story," and it's hilarious coming from the mouth of a sexually repressed British man, which is what I played.

But in Friday night's performance, here's what came out:

"Being aroused means... that is, being naked means never having to say how aroused you are."

Sucks to blow your biggest laugh.

Saturday night's performance was more or less flawless, though. And I was blessed throughout the production to costar opposite the incredibly talented Karson St. John. She made me a lot better than I otherwise would have been.

Me and my diva.

There's more. I want to tell you about hosting Hillcrest Comedy this past Sunday and another amazing book I read and the succulent barbecue chicken I made in the broiler last night. But I'm exhausted -- first day back at the blog and all.

More to come.

Homo inflammable.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Live Blogging the Veep Debate

Only 45 minutes until the debate begins, and I'm already tingling inside. Will Biden accidentally say "Osama" instead of "Obama?" Will Palin talk about her belief that the dinosaurs went extinct because they were too big to fit on Noah's Ark?

Stay tuned and check back here every couple minutes beginning at 9 p.m. ET, 6 p.m. PT.

5:56 Oh, goodie. We're watching the debate on CNN HD -- which means we get to see positively mind-boggling pie charts rating the candidates' answers on the side of the screen throughout the debate.

5:59 CNN just flashed the following fact: "After 1960, there were no presidential debates until 1976." REALLY? WTF?

6:01 Gwen Ifill's turquiose quilted jacket is fabulous!

6:03 "Hey, can I call you Joe?" Oh, Sarah. You're so folksy!

6:03 Ugh. On HD, Biden's eye-bags look bigger than Palin's beehive.

6:05 Holy huge fake eyelashes, Batman!

6:06 Yeah, Joe! Talk about Bosnia! Palin doesn't even know where that is!

6:07 The gloves are off. Biden points out that Mac kepts swearing the economy was strong even as the bottom was falling out.

6:08 Palin responds with the stock bullshit answer that Mac meant The American Worker. Yeah -- the workers are strong! Go workers!

6:09 "Neither of you answered my question about what you'd do as vice-president." You go, Gwen!

6:11 Hillarie Rosen's scorecard is still blank. Is she asleep?

6:12 If she says "Darn right" one more time I'm going to shoot myself.

6:13 Biden just called her a liar: Obama did NOT vote to raise taxes on people making 42k a year, and McCain voted the same way for the bill in question. This came up in the first debate, too. Can someone please fact-check this thing?

6:14 Sarah's getting sassy. "I may not answer the questions the way YOU want me to." Hear that, you darn liberal media elite? Kiss my snowboots!

6:16 Biden's getting sassy back! This is his best answer yet -- showing his passion for helping the middle class.

6:17 Oh, God, I hate her. I really really hate her. She's everything that's wrong with this country.

6:19 Biden:"Gwen, I don't know where to start." Yeah, Joey -- give it to her!

6:20 Uh, oh. He's sort of rambling now. "$5 thousand... $12 thousand..." And the Bridge to Nowhere jab was silly and gratuitous.

6:20 Ramble ramble ramble. Catwoman says: "Should have gone with Hillary."

6:23 Palin claims she broke up an oil monopoly in Alaska. Is that true? Anyone? Anyone?

6:24 "How long have I been at this -- five weeks?" Oh, bad bad answer. Bad, Sarah, bad!

6:25 "John McCain will not support a windfalls profits tax!" Speaking of windfalls, how bout talking in a way that makes sense to 90% of the morons watching Joe? God, he sucks at this.

6:27 Palin: "There have been so many relevations made aware..." Where did this bitch study language? Phone operators in Mumbai speak better English...

6:31 Oh, boy, is she bungling this answer about climate change. She sounds like that Miss Teen North Carolina: "Such as, however, as Governor of Alaska, being that, such as..."

6:32 I predict Joe's about to kick the shit out of her answer...

6:33 Maybe not. You know, he's saying all the right things. He just doesn't say them very well. He's got all the charisma of a dustbunny.

6:34 Boy Wonder points out that the women of American didn't like it when Palin said, "Drill, baby, Drill" on CNN's little on-screen insta-poll. On the other hand, the men of America are all masturbating.

6:36 Woo hoo! Biden supports granting same-sex benefits! He says the Constitution grants rights to us homos! Yay! Everyone have butt-sex!

6:37 Surprise! Palin supports "traditional marriage." But wait -- she's "tolerant!" So basically, we can't have any rights, but she won't burn us at the stake. Love ya, Sarah.

6:39 Uh oh. Biden says he and Obama don't support gay marriage either. Goddammit! I've already registered at Crate & Barrel...

6:40 Sarah is attacking Obama for voting against the surge and funding the troops. And she says Biden criticized him, too! I predict Biden will mention his son now...

6:41 No. He's babbling about timelines. Zzzz...

6:42 Palin: "Your plan is a white flag of surrender in Iraq!" Ooh, dem's fightin' words, Sarah. You don't want to wake the beast...

6:43 Palin just brought up the fact that Biden said Obama wasn't ready to be commander in chief. If he doesn't come back with a retort about her own lack of experience, he's a boob.

6:45 He's a boob.

6:47 Oh, God. She says "NUKE-yoo-lar." Just like Bush. I can't take it. I really can't.

6:48 But at least she can pronounce Ahmadenijad.

6:50 Biden's doing his best all night -- about engaging in diplomacy with our enemies. And yay -- he brought up the McCain in Spain thing.

6:52 Palin loves Israel! (Of course, she loves it because that's where the Rapture will happen.)

6:53 Biden really does rock on foreign policy.

6:54 Palin: "I'm so encouraged to know that we both love Israel." Bitch, please.

6:55 She's like a fucking wind-up doll. She says the same stupid catch-phrases over and over again. "John McCain is a maaaaaa-verick!"

6:56 Is that thing on Gwen's chin a zit? A wart? A boil? Yech.

6:57 Did she just call him "Kim Jong Uhl?"

6:58 Biden: "Facts matter, Gwen." Yeah, baby! "We have spent more in three weeks in Iraq than we've spent in seven years in Afghanistan." Go, Joe, go! "John McCain voted against the comprehensive test ban treaty!" Mmm hmm, Bidey. You give it to her!

7:00 She's losin' it.

7:01 Gwen asks Biden about his record as an interventionist. Palin silently wonders, "What's an interventionist?"

7:02 OMG! Did Biden just say "Bosniaks?"

7:03 "Oh, man, it's just so obvious I'm a Washington outsider." Yes, and also that you're a retard.
7:07 Palin: "John McCain knows what evil is." Just like Jesus!

7:08 Wow, did Gwen just ask what would happen if Obama were assassinated? Holy shit!

7:08 Ha ha -- Biden mentions The Bush Doctrine. Awesome!

7:09 Did Palin just wink at the country? Oh, Sarah... I feel like you're speaking just to me!

7:10 Joe Biden spends a lot of time in Home Depot.

7:11 OMG, It's a folksy explosion: "Oh my goodness... there you go again... doggone it..."

7:12 She just gave a shout-out to a bunch of third-graders. And she actually called it a shout-out. Somewhere, Abraham Lincoln just moaned in his grave.

7:16 What the hell is she reading?

7:17 Biden: Vice-President Cheney's been the most dangerous vice-president we've had in the history of this country." Friggin' brilliant line. And the insta-poll loves it!

7:18 She just repeated her exact answer from two minutes ago. She's seriously a stepford Governor. Also, she doesn't know what Gwen means by an "Achilles Heel."

7:20 Ooh, Biden just played the dead wife and kid card. Didn't think that was going to happen... Oh, and he just got choked up. Well played, Joe. Look for Palin to bring up baby Trig now.

7:21 Nope. Instead, she just calls McCain a maaaa-verick again.

7:22 Palin: "John McCain is the man that we need to leave... LEAD!" Best. Freudian. Slip. Ever.

7:23 Yeah, Joe! Call her on the maverick bullshit!

7:24: Final question: "Can you think of a single issue in which you are forced to change a long-held view in order to accommodate changed circumstances?" That's your final question, Gwen? What a snoozer!

7:25 Biden's answer is about Judge Bork. Interesting. Palin thinks Bork is a kind of meat.

7:25 Palin says there were times when she "caved in" on Alaska's budget. Yikes.

7:26 Boy Wonder proclaims Palin to be a "big fuckin' hillbilly." Amen, Boy Wonder, Amen.

7:27 Good tone-setting statement from Biden, although I think many people are probably wondering what's the big deal about Jesse Helms adopting a kid with braces. (Hint: He means LEG braces.)

7:29 Ooh, Palin's bashing the "mainstream media" in her closing statement. Stupid. Let your pundits do that.

7:30 Oh, God, she's quoting Reagan.

7:31 Good closing statement, Joe. "My dad used to say, when you get knocked down, get up. Well, it's time for America to get up."

7:33 Once again, my ass is asleep, and the debate is over.

This is really it, people! No more debate blogs!

Homo darn tired.