Mr. Funny Pants: A Memoir of False Starts

Mr. Funny Pants: A Memoir of False Starts

Michael Showalter

Language: English

Pages: 288

ISBN: 0446542113

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


I was at my wit's end. I'd had enough of this job, this life, and my relationship had broken up. Should I eat chocolate, or go to India, or fall in love? Then I had a revelation: Why not do all three, in that order? And so it was that I embarked on a journey that was segmented into three parts and was then made into a major motion picture. Later, I woke up on an airplane with a hole in my face and a really bad hangover. I was ushered brusquely off the plane by my parents who took me to a rehab where I tested positive for coke, classic coke, special k (the drug), Special K (the cereal), mushrooms, pepperoni, and Restless Leg Syndrome. It was there that I first began painting with my feet.

But rewind...the year was 1914. I was just a young German soldier serving in the trenches while simultaneously trying to destroy an evil ring with some help from an elf, a troll, and a giant sorcerer, all while cooking every recipe out of a Julia Child cookbook. What I'm trying to say is that there was a secret code hidden in a painting and I was looking for it with this girl who had a tattoo of a dragon! Let me clarify, it was the 1930s and a bunch of us were migrating out of Oklahoma, and I was this teenage wizard/CIA operative, okay? And, um then I floated off into the meta-verse as a ball of invisible energy that had no outer edge...

Ugh, okay. None of this is true. I'm just kind of a normal guy from New Jersey who moved to New York, got into comedy, wrote this book about trying to write this book, and then moved to Alaska, became the mayor of a small town, spent $30,000 on underwear, and now I'm going to rule the world!!!

Attempting Normal

The Comedies of William Shakespeare

The Stench of Honolulu: A Tropical Adventure

Doctor on the Brain (Doctor Series, Book 10)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

figured that it would be worth it. I took out a pen and paper and began to write down the names of what I believed to be “the hundred greatest novels of all time”: The Grape Of Wrath by John Steinbeck The Pictures of Dorian Gray by Author Unknown Old Yeller by Author Unknown These were the books I was supposed to read in middle school. I was running out of ideas, and I had to concede that I wasn’t even actually sure if Old Yeller was a book. I needed more books for my list, so in my

I’m hesitant to take them but she told me that I had nothing to worry about. She said that it was basically a vitamin, like Saint-John’s-Wort. And so I’m like, “Who is Saint John? Like I want to eat some fucking old dude’s wart.” She said it was basically just a “chill out” pill and that I probably wouldn’t even notice it. Cut to: I take the pill and I’m peeing, not peeing while taking the pill, later I’m peeing. After taking the pill is when I’m peeing is what I’m trying to say. Anyway, as I’m

6. Stocked the wellest in the land, it is 7. Fresh vegetables and savory meats, it has 8. My larder board is the finest in the land, it is 9. Except when all the noble folk are in goose mode 10. Otherwise, my larder board is well admired 11. And well cooked from, I might add 12. But when all are goosing each other, the larder board is less well attended to. Boxers Box The hardest part about writing a book for me is that I don’t know how I write a book. What’s my process? Do I write

all have on COWBOY HATS. A tumbleweed rolls past them. Nothing else happens. INT. COMPUTER ROOM ROB: Give us a try! Our admissions offices are located in the back of my car in the parking lot behind the Motel 5 off Route 80 in Acheson, Oklahoma. Sweaters, Sandwiches, Cats I have started making lists of things to write about. I looked at my writer’s mantra pinned over my desk: “Write What You Know.” I asked myself, what do I know? I know that I like sweaters. I know that I don’t

be spoken word artists or anything but enough with the grunting already. Seriously, mummies! Can’t you string three words together and make a sentence? Look, I get it—you’re a mummy. You’ve been buried in a tomb. Big deal, we all have our crosses to bear. I got my ass kicked in fifth grade. Does that mean I have to grunt and moan for the rest of my life? Of course it doesn’t. It’s not like you’re the first person who ever had a shitty day. Of course, cats were mummified too. Ancient Egyptians

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