Is a joke still a joke if you have to explain it?

A talent agent was just sitting around his office minding his own damn business one day. His next appointment came in, and he asked “How may I help you today?”

“Well, I have a mildly popular internet web log,” said the lady seated across the desk.

“Oh, I don’t represent people who write on the internet. They are just terrible people.”

“Trust me, you’ll like my personal internet homepage. Let me just tell you a little bit about it.”

“Eh, OK, you have until my secretary gets back with my half-caf cap.”

The chick who writes on the internet cleared her throat.


Back from the Hotel Stephen King in Maine. It was foggy. We took several boats. I saw many dogs. We rode bikes for approximately 10 miles. My ass still hurts. People in graduate school talking about graduate school really irk me. On the subject of loudly overheard conversations that one might go to an island to avoid.

I am eating watermelon for breakfast, but it’s almost lunch time. I keep having dreams about ex-boyfriends that make me wake up sad. Why. I’ve gone through the entire rolodex at this point. Oh well. Later I have a conference call. I’m parked in the driveway, in case you wondered.


The talent agent sat back in his seat and sighed heavily. “Any what do you call your personal internet homepage?” he asked.

“The Aristocrats!”

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