Dave at the Mug n Kettle

This is one of my more interesting recent comedy sets - ladies and gentlemen - hands

The Assignment

The assignment came in swift, hard and flawlessly explained. The assigner knew her stuff that is for damn sure. She knew what she wanted from me, and how she wanted it to be achieved. She was clear, unwavering and well spoken. She knew who I was, what I was capable of, and how she wanted me to pull it off. Her instructions were crisp, staunch, and poetically brushed into a beautiful picture of intricate unambiguousness.  

I took the assignment in my stride. I was awake, receptive and understanding. I knew what she required from me that’s for damn sure. I knew what was feathering her tickly spots and how she wanted me to blow them the hell away. I understood her needs, where they were born, and the satisfaction that was awaiting being sparkled and glistened. I received her instructions in my ears, swept them up into my brain and needed no imagination to spin them into an honest and scrupulously vibrant game plan on how it needed to be accomplished triumphantly.

So yeah, you could say it, I went into the break room and I poured the fucking shit out of that glass of water for her.

I just wish I didn’t pick the glass with the chip in it.

The ambulance officer knew what his assignment was that’s for damn sure - stop her lip pouring out blood, for the love of god, stop it, this is gross, I think I’m gonna puke.

Cotton Ball

I was holding a cotton ball that day. Yes me! It was just that kind of day I guess. I mean like I'm not bragging, I'm not, but yeah, it happened to me, I was holding a cotton ball! Hell Yeah! 

Well ok, so obviously I'm bragging at least a little, but that's the point, I didn't plan to hold a cotton ball, I'd never even dreamed about it frankly, and yeah, I'll admit it, I didn't even earn it, it was pure dumb luck. And it happened to me, wow. 

I had planned on spending the day at the gym, one of my classic 32 hour sessions, I'm sure you know  about them, they're my claim to fame- I'm sure you've heard about me on the news, or read about me in the papers - 'this man is an anonomly, he can spend 32 hours in the gym in one day, without burning a single calorie, or talking to another person, or smiling - quite a skill' the reporters say. 

My claim to fame, ha ha, that WAS my claim to fame, but now I've got this whole cotton ball deal too! Wow, people will be talking about this for years! Months even! About ME! Hell Yeah! Cause I held a cotton ball, yippee!!

Wait, wait did I say 'cotton ball'? Oh fuck, I meant 'baby kitten that I rescued from a burning sky scrapper, that I had to reach by running up 127 flights of stairs, before fashioning a parashoot out of my t-shirt, three straws from the break room, and a six year old congealed bottle of white out, before risking my life by letting the kitten wear the only harness as I held on to the t-shirts sport team logo, and we floated to the earth, where I took the brunt of the fall, letting the kitten survive unharmed while it tried to lick my two severely broken legs better' - whoops, I said 'cotton ball', that's a Freudian slip if there ever was one.  

And did I say 'held'? Dang, sorry, I meant 'lit a fire in a sky scrapper and then called the media'. Slip of the tongue I guess. 

I mean I'm sick of my claim to fame being that gym thing, they always focus on the fact I don't do anything there and ignore the fact I somehow defy science and fit 32 hours into one day!  

The lesson is, you can't trust everything you hear on the news, try blogs, that's where the truth is :) 

Totally destroyed

Here's what I think I'd think about if I ever found myself accidentally destroying a huge international city, like what I'd be thinking about during the destruction, and well, near the end of it it mostly, like only after it was clear that the whole damn city was destroyed. By accident of course. And I mean like a proper international city, not like a small city that thinks of itself as an international city, just cause like they have a Shakespeare in the park troupe, and like the world's third tallest fountain, and like has Asian restaurants from places in Asia other than Thailand, Japan and China. I'm talking like a real international city, with like a Chekov in the Park troupe, and the third tallest of something way cooler than a fountain, like a water tower, and Asian restaurants from places in Asia that are technically Asian, but then are they really? Like Mongolian, Nepalese, and Ethiopian. You know - a REAL international city, a proper, sophisticated and prosperous one. And I'm nearly finished destroying it, the whole damn thing, like really fucking it all up, by accident of course. Oh man, I think I'd probably be overwhelmed with thoughts, oh my, thoughts like: 

- 'Woops' 

- And um.. 

- Um... 

Wait, yeah, nah, that'd be about it. I mean I said it was an accident. 

The Excellence of Hammers

This is a blog called the excellence of hammers, and the topic of this blog is about how hammers are excellent. 

Here's the thing about hammers, I'm a man, but I'm not a manly man, I can't do anything manly, like fix a car, cut down a tree, or make it through an episode of the Big Bang Theory without crying. But the thing about hammers is they are have excellence.

I mean I've never really used a hammer at least not successfully, at least not in the make a nail go in straight sense, if that's how success is judged, although I did listen to NWA's 'straight out of Compton' a few times 25 odd years ago, so I get what the word 'straight' means, just not with nails. 

Not that I listen to manly music often, not that I can do anything manly really, like wash a car, climb a tree or hold a cotton ball without crying. 

But you know, it's like, the thing with hammers is, despite my inability to use them, at least not in the make a nail go in straight sense, is that they're really in possession of excellence. 

Not that I've ever possessed one, like I've owned a few over the years, I think, I mean I believe there is one in the tool draw I have at home that I havnt looked in for 5 years, and I don't think I ever bought one, but I think I acquired one one day somehow, like maybe someone was over at my house and hammering some dinner together or something, and left it. I have a plate that came my way with similar serendipity, and I keep stuff like that, because like, with the plate - I might want to put something on a plate, food maybe. Or with the hammer, maybe I might need to use it if say if one of the nails holding my walls up fell out, or if one of the nails that holds my stereo together fell out, or like if one of the nails that keeps my toilet flushing fell out, I wouldn't hammer it back in myself, I'd hire a mechanic to fix it, I assume, but I think I do own my own hammer, and if I do it's in that draw. 

Not that I don't know anything about mechanics, I once saw an episode of  the TV show 'Frasier' where the lead character, um, I think his name was Frasier? And his brother, I think his name was Woody, and they don't know anything about mechanics, so they take a class in mechanics, and I saw that episode, so I do know basically what it would be like to go to one of those courses in mechanics - pretty freakishly manly by the look of things. 

Not that I can do anything manly, like  knowing definitely what's in my draws, or how to climb a car, or how to drive a tree, or think of a butterfly without crying. But the thing with hammers is they're haunted with excellence. 

Not that haunted is a particularly accurate choice of words there, but I did one time have someone tap me on my left shoulder, but like they were actually standing on my right, so I do know what it's like to be haunted, and it's kind of like the same relationship hammers have with excellence. 

Wait, hammers are those like hammering tools right? Yep? Sweet, yeah, they're excellent, and manly! 

And that, my friends, is the excellence of hammers. 

I remember when

Oh, mmmm, sorry, I was about to write a blog about the excellence of hammers, but I'm distracted, I'm just in my head at the moment, you see I was just thinking about the last time I was nostalgic. Mmmmmm... Nostalgia.

Oh it was sweet. And I mean that not in a slangy 'that party was SWEET man' way, but sweet like a little kitten meowing to let you know that he's happy you're holding him way. Awww. It was so cute. One of the best moments of nostalgia experiencing I can remember. I'll be remembering this moment of reflection for a long time I think. 

This was about 8 minutes ago, I was walking down the street, it's an unseasonably warm day here where I am, but, seemingly sent simply to nullify my sweaty brow, a cool zephyr of breeze gently washed over me, my hair was tickled back over my ears, an old lady coughed to my left, and I was stuffing my headphones into my, newly dangerously holed, pocket, having just completed the listening of a podcast, when it happened, I was struck with a nearly DéjàVu level of epic, solid, generous and delicious nostalgia. 

A wonderful memory, unprompted by anything but the power of the overwhelming combinations of the various stimuli poking at my senses and emotions magically conjured an image into my mind. Sweet, sweet nostalgia. 

Suddenly I wasn't in the current moment anymore, but in a different beautiful moment from my past, a since forgotten moment, thrust back into the forefront of my mind movie, unexpectantly, but very much welcomely. 

To be specific, the moment from my past that was driven into my present took place about two minutes before this current moment, when I was walking in this exact same spot, however in the opposite direction, before I realized I was going the wrong way, and yet still deep within the dying moments of what had already established itself to be an enjoyable walk while listening to a podcast. Mmmm... nostalgia. 

Here I was in the same spot, a mere two minutes apart, but such different experiences, one south east, one north west, one listening to a podcast, one listening to an old lady cough, one in the moment, and one in the beautiful magic of nostalgia.  

It was the best time remembering a memory of remembering something  I can ever remember. It fact I will never forget it, it will stay within my soul, guiding me, and comforting me, for from now on, if I'm lonely or bored I'll be able to stop and cozily think 'I remember the last time I was nostalgic' - Mmmm... Nostalgia :) 

Oh and then the old lady got abducted by a giant space ship that was shaped like a crying Frank Sinatra head, I'd have told you about that first, but I don't know, it just wasn't really memorable. 

The Other Passengers

The other passengers didn't know what to do. They were dumbstruck, shocked and overwhelmed, with a desire to not in anyway insert themselves into the unexpected circumstances they'd found themselves amongst. In anyway thankyou very much. 

But they weren't just dumbstruck though, oh no, but deafstruck, blindstruck, awestruck, and even numbstruck, it was I fuck load of striking, there have been aggressive Trade Unions that haven't struck this much before, there have been strikingly elegant fashion models that haven't struck this much, I mean there was once a pro wrestler named 'The Striker' who could only dream of strucking this much. 

And they weren't just shocked, hell no, but they were shockingly shocked, they were shocked with how shockingly shocked they were, they were shocked until they shook with shock, they shook like shaking after shock shook affected salt shakers after the shock of being shaken by an after shock that itself only shook post an original even more intense shake that was shakingly shocking. 

Also they weren't just overwhelmed, fucking of course not, but they were whelmed with how overwhelmed they were, they were endingwhelmed, abovewhelmed, and even finishwelmed with how welmingly overwhelmed they were. There have been welm merchants from Venice with less ability to overwhelm, there have been waining warriors wondering where their next whelm will wander in from who could only dream of being as welmingly overwhelmed as this. 

That is, of course, with a desire to not in anyway insert themselves into the unexpected circumstances they'd found themselves in. These other passengers didn't know what the fuck was going on and they didn't want any part of it. 

We were all on the same ferry, but the other passengers just couldn't believe what I'd just done. Yep, I did it, and I'll admit it. I said 'the water looked nice'. 

It was dumbstrikingly, overwhelmingly shocking. 

Being the worlds foremost celebrity dedicated to the highly beloved art-form of water niceness denying sure can be tough some days :(  

Fix this fix

I find that everytime I have a wrench in my hand one of five things happens:

1. I fix the shit out of some piece of epically complicated machinery 

2.  I finally learn the true meaning behind the phrase 'kill a skunk, eat some string cheese, and never again be required to clean a Scandinavians boat shed' 

3. I think 'hmmm, what's a wrench?'

4. I'm finally in the mood to explain number 2 (please note I am not currently holding a wrench, so you're shit out of luck)

5. I think 'you know what, if I was a real man I could totally kill a cockroach with this.'

Lessons: 

- wrenches are fun 

- if I was in a video game that'd be totally cool

- If missionaries have sex missionary style, how do nuns do it?     

- what's a wrench?

In a writing rut

I’m in a writing rut. I mean look at that? I just opened this blog by repeating the title. Out of literally every single group of words available, which is probably some really huge number, like infinity or a thousand or something, the best thing I could come up with to open with was just repetition, and there is nothing good about repetition, there is nothing good about repetition at all.

I don’t know what to write anymore. I used to just write without a care in the world, but I have lost my mojo. I have lost my faith. I second-guess myself a lot. I have become a negative nilly, a doubting fucking hater, a shit little fuck shit really, I even second-guess myself sometimes.  

I just wanna be silly please. Use some positivity. Find some joy in something random. I know I will randomly try and think of a word.

Ok, so the word I randomly thought of is this word – kingly.

Isn’t that an awesome word? I could have all sorts of fun with a word like that.

I mean it’s got ‘king’ in it, which could almost be called royal, and I bet there has got to be some decent stories about royals written by other people out there somewhere? I mean nothing famous or anything, but that doesn’t mean its not great writing.  

Oh and it’s also got ‘ly’ in it, which isn’t even a word on its own. How fun is that? It’s like a make-me-up, and make-me-ups are fun!

Like this one time I made up a sloth who could eat panda bears! Like, I mean, this wasn’t a real sloth that ate panda bears, it was completely made up by my brain, just like that word ‘ly’ was made up by someone? That’s fun right? So why can’t I think of anything to write about?

Like think about this – I once wrote about a salamander, and I don’t even know what a salamander is. I mean is that one of those things, like an axolotl? Those half fish, half land animal, almost like a lizard, sort of close to what the animals were like that first crawled out of the seas heading the world in the directions of mammals and intelligent life, so kind of like a history of the world and evolution, with a mix of the possibly majesty of a higher power? Or is it just some stupid fish? I don’t know, so how the hell did I find something interesting to write about it? I didn’t, I just made up that wrote about a salamander before. So yeah, I can make stuff up; I should be able to write something made up using the word kingly then, right?

I even just had this idea – imagine if some guy had a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejected the offer of taking on this mission because it was stupid. I mean in stories people are always taking on missions, how come we never hear people say ‘that’s stupid’ and then like watch TV or something. That’s unique, and uniqueness is exciting. Like say a King, he’s unique because there is only one of him, so pretty much any king story would be exciting. Maybe like a king could be offered a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejects the offer because its stupid, but then that’s not a unique story because it’s the exact same one as I used for some guy earlier.

Man this sucks. I’ve got nothing. I can’t think of a single thing. This sucks. I don’t know, how can I end this. Maybe I can just repeat something, like a pattern type dealy – I’ll just pick any sentence from near the beginning at random and copy and post it and it’ll seem like a call back, and boom, this blog will have some merit.

There is nothing good about repetition at all.

Yep, nailed it.

Here comes the story of the Biting Man

The Biting Man

Teeth dig into shoulder on a Brazilian afternoon
Screams are let out by two with wounds
One is clutching his shoulder one his teeth
The Italian cries out 'you bit me' good grief
Here comes the story of the biting man
With an overbite and taste for human arm
His biting has definitely done some harm
Now a borderline cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

First time he was playing in Holland you see
Another player was marking him brilliantly
Suarez says "I wanna score a goal you're making it tough"
The defender says 'that's my job, so tough luck"
So on the shoulder Suarez bit him hard
But his career wasn't fatally marred
Because then FIFA went all soft
'They basically let him off?'
And soon he was back on the field

Biting another human is a disgusting act
There's no player good enough to get away with that
But Suarez is one of the best players around
Scores goals so sublime he can excite any town
By now he's been bought by one of the worlds best teams
And Suarez thinks 'I can get away with anything it seems'
In football that just the way things go
Racial abuse and cheating just the way that he rolls
And somehow his value increased

This second time he was playing for Liverpool FC
A team with lots of honor and rich history
Suarez thought 'Fuck this teams reputation'
I'll chew on someone's arm they'll only give me probation
But he actually got suspended for ten games
Suarez turned around and said 'the media's to blame'
Liverpool supported him through it all
They liked the way he kicked them foot balls
And even for 40 million they wouldn't let him leave

When his suspension is over he makes a return
With a point to prove and a bad reputation to burn
He starts scoring goals at such a rapid rate
The media seem to forget about 'he-bit-me-gate'
Here's the story of the biting man
With a rat like face and taste for human flesh
That prick he'll never confess
Now a cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.


Holy shit this song is a fucking long one
Oh wait, ha ha, I just thought of an awesome pun
I might have bitten off more here than I can chew
This song is harder than human skin to get through





On to Brazil and Suarez reputation is fine
The biggest clubs in the world are saying he's 'MINE'!
The form he is in Uruguay could win the world cup!
That's unless Suarez seriously fucks up
How can the biggest sport in the land
Let itself be tainted by such a man
The game doesn't deserve this hit
Plus what's the deal with his stupid hand tape shit?
What a stupid little prick

Suarez can score goals that will blow you away
But that's not his favorite part of soccer these days
It's just a chance to get close to other's limbs
So he can salivate up and bite down some skin
That's the story of the biting man
But it won't be over till he gets a life ban
And we take back all his accolades
He's a filthy cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

How to meet me for lunch

Two days ago I did 'how to pay men like that to talk' and it was a very popular episode. I got thousands of people telling me how much they liked it, and from what I understand dozens of men like that have now been paid to talk. It’s really been a society altering episode, maybe even earth changing, especially the parts of earth with societies.

However, it hasn’t all been good news. Yesterdays episode 'How to do impressions', while beloved by the masses, was, as I have been emailed about by many, many angry people, was not 'how to meet me for lunch' as promised. My email box sounds like a damn pinball machine with angry responses, 'where is 'how to meet me for lunch’ damn it?' people have been emailing me, ‘how the fuck am I supposed to know ‘how to meet me for lunch’ if you don’t fucking tell me?’ others have written, and ‘I’m going on a hunger strike until I am dead, that’s because you didn’t do ‘how to meet me for lunch’ you prick, till I’m DEAD I tells you’ has been another common response. And I know, I am sorry. Here it is, it’s one day late. That’s the joy of a daily show, it’s only ever one day late, if I miss something, not that you don’t have the right to be pissed off and threatening life threatening strike type dedications, those are very valid responses, I am not in anyway discounting your acceptable and understandable reactions, just that it’s daily, so, sorry, I won’t let you down again, ok? I promise.

I hope someone brought the butter

 I got a haircut yesterday - and yes, thank you, I wanted to look like a bearded lesbian, I am glad you noticed, approve and more than that applaud me for it. You are all very sweet and generous people, and I will most certainly take your compliments, love, and praise and pack them into the small hole I keep below my left pancreas, which is where I keep emotions that I haven’t had time to cram into my heart yet.

Of course there is a reason why I don’t foresee having time to shove them into my heart, because something happened during my haircut experience which is kind of a little concerning, and no it’s not my once again pathetic attempts to make small talk with someone cutting my hair, but thanks for noticing, I appreciate it, and enjoy your commendations.

Here is the thing, before the haircut the hairdresser washed my hair, because why else get a haircut other than for the opportunity for your one hair wash every year? And as the hairdresser was rubbing my head while washing my hair, she paused for a moment before anxiously saying:

 'Wow you really hold a lot of tension in your skull'.

So yes it is true, the tension in my brain is starting to infiltrate my skull and my head may pop at any moment. Now I am not writing this blog looking for sympathy nor compassion. All our heads will pop one day, it is an inevitable part of life. Some have their head pop way into old age, and some have it pop randomly still young and while their life is going great. It is something that we cannot change. Suddenly you hear a loud bang, and realize that no one near by was carrying a balloon, and see a body on the ground missing a popped head. That is something we all live with as humans.  

But what we don’t have to live with is having random brain parts from popped heads splashing on us ruining our shirts. If you see me coming, please, pull out your poncho and put it on immediately. You will not offend me in the slightest. I carry around a poncho everywhere too, and yet I, like I am sure all of you, have faced the horror of being on a train, or at a crowded party, where a head has popped and your poncho was kept dry and in your pocket, while one of your favorite shirts is ruined, and you’re all like ‘oh come on man, let a guy know if you think your head may be about to pop!’

As I look around the secret webcams I have pointed at most of you reading this, I am seeing a lot of nodding heads. And yet out in public saying things like this is for some reason taboo – ‘we don’t want to offend anyone who’s head is about to pop’ people whisper to each other. And yet every single one of us carries around a poncho at all times supposedly to protect our shirts from brains splashing from popped heads.

Well enough is enough. I am brave enough to say it – I am David Tieck, and according to my hairdresser, whom I see for all my medical needs, hold a lot of tension in my skull, and therefore my head may pop at any second.

Now it’s all of your turns, have you had a haircut lately?

Oh holy hell, as I am looking around the webcams I am not seeing a single hand up in the air. How the hell then do you even know if your head might be about to pop? This is so much worse than I expected! 

Forget waiting for someone to warn you that their head might be about to pop before putting on your poncho. Apparently most people haven’t had a check up as recently as me. Oh my god people. For all we know heads might start popping all over the goddamn place.

Screw it. I wanted to use my immanent head pop to encourage a generous warning period so we could get our ponchos on in time and save our shirts, but it’s useless, so let’s all just all wear our ponchos all the time. I ain’t spending one more night trying to wash splashed brains out of a button up.

So there you go, mines on. And yes, the garbage bag green does look nice with my bearded lesbian looking head. I will take your kindness, affection, and accolades and pack them right in there under that left pancreas right away.

Wait, one more thing, if your head is about to pop, does it matter what your hair looks like?

How to do impressions