You guys. I have some terrible news. I shaved.
More Pulitzers than any other pile of scrap paper.
New sketch by Adam Conover and I. The newspapers are full of trash these days.
Murph has no honor left. Do not trust him.
I’m reading about bath salts for a sketch I’m writing. I’ve noticed that, in reviews, people refer to tripping on bath salts as taking a bath. These are my seven favorite real quotes from real bath salt reviews.
- The euphoric effects begin pretty darn quick – say 10-15 minutes and escalate from there to produce one of the best baths on the planet, hands down.
- “You will be able to sleep 8+ hours after your bath and will have only mild effects the day after.”
- “The effects of Tranquility bath salts do not last as long as many of the others either, which is a plus for many people that don’t have a budget of 6-8 hours for a bath.”
- “We can also attest to an extreme state of clear-mindedness and ability to focus, if that is something that you wish to do while bathing.”
- “…with little in the way of after-effects, at least none that would make you want to forgo another bath sometime in the future.”
- “If not experienced, definitely start out with a little bit in the bath and see how things go.”
- “Just because it’s 50-State legal, doesn’t mean it’s a crappy bath.”
Today is Bring your Dog to Work Day in the Collegehumor office. In honor of the occasion, I’ve written what I think is the first comedy sketch for dogs. If you don’t get it, it’s because you’re not a dog!
EXT. BACKYARD - DAY
GEORGE, a handsome German shepherd, paces the yard. He goes from object to object, smelling. No one spot catches his interest. He’s enamored with experiencing the whole world. George is investigating a tree stump when MISS WOOFOWITZ, a buxom boxer-basset hound mix, approaches. She coyly smells the stump, but pretends not to notice him. He’s tentative.
Miss Woofowitz ignores him. She acts as though her attention has been enveloped by the stump.
Bark. Bark. Bark.
Miss Woofowitz’s ears go erect. She stairs deep into George’s eyes.
Miss Woofowitz is taken back. She didn’t expect such a direct response, such confidence. She composes herself.
They stare each other down, then simultaneously lose interest. George discovers a tennis ball and licks it. His tongue is coated in the memories of the ball’s past. He tastes the grass of the lawn. He tastes the saliva of the other dogs that have held it. He tastes the skin flecks of his owner’s hand, left behind from nights spent throwing it. He tastes the cardboard and plastic package it was birthed from. The ball is as much round toy as it is a yearbook of flavors.
Miss Woofowitz shits.
This is Caldwell and I’s magnum opus. Shooting it was such a good workout that I had to take a shower after.
I’ve deprived the world of my musical abilities for too long.