tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197602652024-03-12T21:46:54.136-04:00Joe Simmons. Comedian. Humorist. Loserist.Random thoughts from a guy who thinks he's a great stand-up comedian.Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-57010100379802193682015-07-07T13:23:00.000-04:002015-07-07T13:23:31.758-04:00Bill Cosby Teaches Jared from Subway
"Hey Jared! Good to see you! How are you?"
"Bill---Bill Cosby? What are you doing here? Wait, where the hell are we?"
"My boy, this is a place called the Public Consciousness. It's not fun, but don't worry, it's very temporary."
"The Public what? Look, I have some commercials to tape, I have to--"
"Hahaha," Cosby laughed. "Jared, trust me, all that filth flarn filth in your career just came Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-31610534591563538932015-04-15T20:36:00.000-04:002015-04-15T20:36:28.801-04:00An Unexpected Message from my Mom
My OCD got sick and tired of seeing the big red “347” over
the Google Voice icon on my iPhone a few days ago. Yes, that means I had 347 new messages. Well, maybe “new” isn’t a good description
for them. Some of them were from 2011. Clearly, I hate voicemail.
But feeling under the weather and having nothing better to
do, I decided to log into my Google Voice account on Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-89912047774610092372015-03-25T21:48:00.001-04:002015-03-25T21:48:55.704-04:00My Mom, My Hero
When I was a Verizon rep in Florida, every once in a while another rep would catch me at my desk without a customer, seemingly doing nothing, with a big smile on my face.
"Dude, why are you smiling?" He asked once.
"No reason. Just to smile I guess."
"Well, you look like a serial killer. Stop."
My smile turned into a laugh, then back to a smile. I never really put that much thought Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-43211123365788397432015-03-23T15:00:00.001-04:002015-03-23T15:00:34.269-04:00Mom and Dad (and Cell Phones)
Mom was in the passenger seat of Dad’s pickup truck. She was playing with her brand new BlackBerry
while Dad was driving.
“Great,” he said sarcastically. “Now you’re going to become one of those damn
‘BlackBerry Zombies’.”
To this day, Dad hates cell phones, and only has a little
flip phone because I got him one and made him promise to always leave it
on. That wasn’t the Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-63401105812435350922015-01-07T23:08:00.000-05:002015-02-18T01:54:03.013-05:00Should I be Fired?
“My son just wants to take a look at iPhones,” said a middle-aged
woman who hurriedly walked in our store on the Upper West Side. She
wore very expensive clothing and was talking on her cell phone. She
gestured at me to go away. Over-entitled Upper West Side bitch.
I
turned to the boy. He was about 17, also well-attired, but not wearing
it well. He was overweight, had thick glasses, Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-69995560810328607342014-10-06T23:16:00.000-04:002015-02-17T23:24:09.947-05:00Match.com Has Nothing on Me
I
have a rule that I never post about my social life on the Internet. I
know that may sound weird coming from someone who has no qualms sharing
the most embarrassing things about his life online and onstage, but we
all have to have a line, and that’s mine. It’s mainly out of respect for
the other party.
But, I love this story too much to keep it to myself. So this one time, I’m making Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-68471204852544406282014-09-28T23:28:00.000-04:002015-02-18T00:27:46.555-05:00The Subway
I was down in the 15th St-Prospect Park subway terminal seated on a
bench, waiting for the F-train, pretty much pissed off that I had to go
in to the city on my day off for a last-minute breakfast with the
Regional Directors of my company. As it always does on weekends, the
F-train was taking its sweet ass time getting there.
A 20-ish
girl walked up to sit next to me. She was heavy-set, Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-536098366675635772013-12-16T00:49:00.000-05:002015-02-19T00:50:38.874-05:00Vote "Yes"Lady yelling at me from across the parking lot: "Would you like to sign a petition to legalize medical marijuana?"
Me: "Hell yeah. Bring that over here."
Lady: "Medical marijuana has many medical benefits such as--"
Me, signing: "Lady, you had me at 'marijuana'. Here you go."
Lady: "Thank you very much."
Me: "So you got any?"
Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-50141590145048290522013-08-07T01:01:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:04:19.204-05:00Store Story #662Recently, an elderly couple came into our store in Naples, Florida to
discuss some aspect of their account. The lady, somewhat heavy-set,
moved quite well and set in her seat with ease. The gentleman, skinny
and slightly hunched over, with wisps of gray hair futilely covering his
balding head, struggled to his chair. I asked how I could help.
She began discussing her issue, but soon Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-89786918230612044032013-07-23T01:06:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:10:13.718-05:00Store Stories #829It caught me off guard when the door chime rung. Its beeping is
usually unnecessary, since sales reps in our stores generally see our
customers coming from their vehicles in the parking lot. But I never
saw a car pull in. A short, older gentleman with thinning
salt-and-pepper hair walked inside. He was probably in his 70s. I’m
trained to give a warm greeting when someone comes in, but Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-72381492862804305182013-06-16T01:17:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:19:20.332-05:00Father's DayMy earliest memory of my father is when he was in his late 20s, and
took me with him to pick up a new 1974 Chevy Impala. I was three
years-old at the time, so the memory is not much more than an image and
an emotion, but the image is of me looking out the front window from the
passenger seat, and the emotion was pride—as if I had bought the
car—and seeing Mom come outside as we pulled into Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-26627129133677015612013-06-10T01:23:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:25:37.066-05:00Where's my Dos Equis Tryout?I've written for a blog that had thousands of readers. I've worn the
UPS uniform. I've gotten on stage in front of hundreds of people, with a
lone spotlight on me, and made them all laugh. I've seen the Latvian
National Opera...in Latvia. I'm on a comedy podcast. I once carried on a
three-hour conversation with a Russian fashion model who couldn't speak
English.
I've written freelance Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-48575689056141093132013-05-12T01:30:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:32:08.365-05:00Mother's DayAbout five or six years ago, I was riding as a passenger in a car
where the driver noticed an immigrant-looking woman walking with two
small children on a long, empty sidewalk. The three of them were by all
indications neither near their starting point nor their destination.
The driver made a joke. I didn't laugh.
I immediately thought of
my mom. She’s Filipino, having moved to the Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-20474876291964512882013-05-08T01:41:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:45:37.739-05:00NYC Trip Update III'm posting this from the train station in the Woodlawn area of the
Bronx, sitting on the steps pretending like I'm a New Yorker. Everyone
here seems to be coughing, sniffling and hacking, so I fit right in.
This Goddamn cold hit me the day before I left for the Big Apple, and
hasn't left me since. It's been more committed to me than any of my last
three girlfriends. I'm starting to fall in Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-24286837503837412922013-05-01T01:35:00.000-04:002015-02-19T01:38:07.132-05:00NYC Trip UpdateI'm currently at about 30,000 feet in a Delta airplane the size of a
tube sock. I hate everybody in here. I'm sitting on the aisle and
fantasizing about tripping everyone that walks by. If we crashed it
would suck because I would die, but everyone else getting killed would
take the edge off.
Okay, I know I sound bitter. I'm on three
hours of sleep. Plus, I have not been sick in two years Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-81750907331578311052013-02-06T01:57:00.000-05:002015-03-04T01:59:58.517-05:00FacebookFacebook looks back at me in grayed-out words and and asks "How's it
going, Joseph?" like it gives a shit. It doesn't. It just knows that
getting you to post something--anything--is the key to facebook. Heck,
it's more than the key, it is the everything of this "social network".
Facebook produces no content, it just organizes billions of megabits of
keyboard diarrhea into easily Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-41554430404178795662012-05-21T19:40:00.000-04:002015-02-13T00:58:45.307-05:00Comedy vs. Cancer vs. Local NewsTwo years ago, I was asked to perform with a few other comics at a charity event for cancer. Well, I guess it was against cancer. Or something. It was one of those "Relay For Life" things where people trek around this high school track for hours, and I was to perform on a stage right in front of said track.
First off, I've never understood how people walking around in circles fights cancer. Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-46196196752373919822011-04-28T15:40:00.001-04:002011-04-29T04:08:50.305-04:00Comedy is...DifferentWhen I decided to become a comic a little over two years ago, I had no idea what kind of world I was entering. Up until that point in my life, I had always been employed in some kind of profession that required you to be, you know, professional. This meant there were certain assumptions about the way you behaved and just generally ran your life. Just to cite one small example, in my Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-6349593424858682202011-04-22T20:11:00.001-04:002011-04-22T20:31:14.619-04:00Anthony's 4/21/11: Avoiding the ChokeholdThe caller ID said Bryan Hamilton was trying to reach me. I don’t like answering the phone when I’m driving, but if you send too many of Bryan’s calls to voicemail, you run the risk of a rear naked chokehold the next time he sees you. I hit the “answer” button.
“I’m featuring at Anthony’s tonight,” said the fellow comedian. “And I got you a guest spot. Be there at seven.”
Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-33067849166034051652011-04-19T19:51:00.001-04:002011-04-21T15:09:51.439-04:00So, uh, this is it…
It took about two days, but my new(ish) website and blog are just about complete. I’ve known I’ve needed a web presence for a long time, but there’s a lengthy list of reasons why I had not gotten it done:
1. Websites cost money.
Okay, so maybe “lengthy list” was a slight overstatement. Call me a cheap ass*, but I’ve adapted nicely to the prevalent Internet marketing thought Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-38557215205712402532011-04-17T23:47:00.002-04:002011-04-17T23:59:53.974-04:00He’s Ba-aaack!<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4ptJoe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-11645247374510248692011-02-09T11:31:00.000-05:002015-02-13T11:36:09.906-05:00Pearl of the OrientI can't sleep.
You're probably thinking, "Well, lazy
ass, quit trying when it's 4PM." Well, where I am, it's NOT 4PM, it's
5AM. Or, 0500. And maybe you shouldn't be such a smartass. How many
times have YOU crossed the International Date Line, dipshit?
Sorry.
I get a little testy when I can't sleep. And yes: I'm out of the
country. WAY out of the Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-19332977859834422362010-12-30T20:36:00.000-05:002015-02-13T20:37:37.305-05:00Note From the Back SeatA few weeks ago, I saw a book written by some unknown comedian that was
supposedly about funny stories from the road. I flipped through it real
quickly, which was silly since I never bothered to read a word. I'm not
sure what I was looking for, but I certainly didn't find it. I put it
back.Right now, I'm in the back seat of a Chevy Aveo on the way to
a gig in North Carolina. This car is Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-72419986701792824792009-12-28T20:07:00.000-05:002015-02-13T20:08:20.077-05:00A Comedian Goes to See a Newborn BabyTwo of my best friends had a baby girl today. It was a
cesarean birth, meaning they cut her open and yanked the little bastard
out. Sort of like the movie 'Aliens', but scarier. Mother and baby
girl Ava are doing very well.It's their third child. I wonder if doctors are ever tempted to write little notes on the uterus wall for the next doctor. Sort of like uterus graffiti. Imagine the Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19760265.post-23638498507908716412009-08-09T20:17:00.000-04:002015-02-13T20:20:38.468-05:00Do YOU Qualify to Date an Incredible Man? Or Joe Simmons?(Long-time MySpace friends may recognize this one. Thanks to Jamie Dektas for reminding me of it.)I'm
often asked why I'm seemingly always single. Rarely does a day go by
when I don't hear: "Joe, how can someone as charming, handsome, sweet,
modest, and adorable as yourself possibly not have a girlfriend?" It's
certainly quite a conundrum, and I'm as mystified as anyone else. A few
Joe Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00597597389018446240noreply@blogger.com0