Etiquette

On Etiquette

Manners. Etiquette. They are different, but they both have a lot to do with forks. Etiquette tells one which fork to use and manners tell one how to deal with a boorish slob once he's used a salad fork to eat his steak.
  
If you don't know the difference between a salad fork and steak fork, it's because there is no difference.  Also there is no such thing as a steak fork... that is, until you use your salad fork to eat a steak. Then it's a steak fork.
  
Once the steak is finished, the steak fork becomes another type of fork altogether. The Wrong Fork. That's my favorite type of fork to use. The wrong fork is so versatile. Equally adept at picking up lettuce as it is at opening a jar of pickles.
   
But Etiquette can't be all about forks right? A quick Wikipedia search reveals that sadly, yes. it is. Etiquette is all about forks.
   
The fork. It's a big deal. Which fork do I use? When do I use it? How many forks should i have? On which side of the plate should I put how many forks?

Something tells me that all these fork worries weren't such a big deal until people became rich enough to own so many forks that they needed rules to justify why they owned so many forks in the first place.
   
There was a time shortly before the Fork Rules Era where the simple act of using any fork in any way would mark you as an elitist douche, worthy of an ass beating ... like the kids who had Palm Pilots back when I was in High School, in the mid 90s.
   
Nowadays, when you take a look around the world we live in, it seems that forks aren't as important as they used to be. There's finger foods, chopsticks, 100 calorie packs, squeezable potato salad, sporks, splades, breakaway lid pieces that can act as scoops, and even scoop-shaped corn chips that take silverware out of the salsa-eating equation altogether.

The decline of the fork has dragged down Etiquette, the science of fork rules, along with it. Now instead of worrying about which fork to use, people worry more about not getting murdered and which parts of facebook they should keep private.

What's that you say about Soup spoons? Never heard of them. How can we think about silverware when everyday is 9/11 all over again, and people are wearing sweat pants to work?
   
So what happened to etiquette? Where did it go? What does it look like today? What kind of fork should I use to scratch my balls?

I would ask God these questions. Etiquette would dictate that, but I can't, because God is dead, and since cleanliness is next to Godliness it would follow that cleanliness is probably dead as well, and since etiquette is all about cleanliness (of forks specifically) it would follow that etiquette might soon be dead too.

Etiquette was, in its heyday, largely a set of rules for classy people to live by so that they can have a nice and tidy society full of classy people who know all about forks. Nowadays we just make do without the nice and tidy, and classy part. Looking around the room, it's obvious that we all know to wear pants when in mixed company. That's etiquette. But most of us don't care if those pants are too long, too short, too dirty, or too tight anymore. If Blue is the new Black, then Camel Toe is the new Tuxedo.

How did this happen?
  
10 years ago, I paid Etiquette a visit at The Yacht Club in Marblehead, MA. If you've never been to Marblehead, I can tell you, it's a little Peninsula on the North Shore of Massachussets, where everyone owns a shitload of fancy forks.

I went to the Yacht Club fresh from a boating excursion which left me horribly under-dressed. So they forced me into a blue blazer with gold buttons. I had to wear that blazer so that everyone would know that I was a broke loser who had to borrow a jacket to eat dinner with the wrong fork ... Etiquette dictates that.
   
I paid Etiquette another visit recently, and it looks a lot different now. I was in Western North Carolina, a part of North Carolina so upside down that it's actually South of South Carolina. We were planning on going to the Yacht Club there. I was nervous. Would they force me into another jacket? Would I know which fork to use? Did I inherit enough money from my grandparents? The worries were endless. So I got as dressed up as my vacation wardrobe would allow, and parted my hair very squarely.
    
As it turns out this The Yacht Club on the Georgia - North Carolina - South Carolina border was much different from the Yacht Club I had been to a decade earlier in Massachusetts. The Etiquette had changed. Gone were the yachts, the well heeled New England prep schoolers, the pink polo shirts, the white slip-on boat shoes.  In their place were Buckets of LandShark beer, the putrid stench of floor vomit and many fried finger foods. I didn't need a sport coat, just a towel around my waste and a flourescent green bikini top to house sun wrinkled tattooed cleavage.
  
Now I'm willing to admit that this Yacht Club in Appalachia wasn't the same type of place as the one I had been to, in Massachusetts.  But I think it's more likely that 10 years ago it was a nice and tidy place, full of well mannered and well dressed men. And at some point in the past 10 years everyone traded their Blue Blazers for sleeveless Hulkamania T-shirts and threw away all their forks. It's a forkless world now. I think it's time we get used to it.

THIS FRIDAY! APRIL 30th!

Check out our next show with all new comedy things!

You will laugh.

Video Tutor, M.D.

Familiar with the "Video Professor"? If you ever watch Sportscenter at any time of the day then you are. He's the guy who gives away the free computer lessons!

Well Sixth Borough would like to introduce to you "Video Tutor, M.D."

And yes that is Pat as Jim A Spear! Be sure to see his show tomorrow night at Connie's Ric Rac! Check out the previous post for details...

People in college like Ugly Furniture!

FRONT PAGE (for the time being)

also under

Most liked this month

Cleveland digs Ugly Furniture

Hey weiners and weinettes, this is a screenshot from my friend's blog in Cleveland. She's kind of a big deal out there in the blog-o-rama scene, and she had a post today for "Ugly Furniture".

If you get a chance, check out "Cleveland's a Plum". There's a picture of a baby on there with a WU shirt. It's pretty boss.

clevelandsaplum.com

-Jason

mur...

Couple others...

Top one is from BoingBoing: http://www.boingboing.net/2010/02/08/

Bottom is from Emily's favorite blog, Apartment Therapy!

Some more Ugly Buzz

Adam McKay and GQ magazine like "Ugly Furniture". But more importantly, do they like eachother...?

UGLY FURNITURE BLOWS UP THE WORLD

Today was the day Ugly Furniture was featured on Funny Or Die. AWESOME. Way to go Jay!

Ugly Furniture Thongs coming to Target soon!

UGLY FURNITURE!

"It's a pretty thing isn't it...."

Finally the classic Bing & Bowie holiday special...

full version

"Step Up 3: Washington Ave"

This is what usually happens to people after a 6th Borough show at Connie's Ric Rac...

Come to our next show and you too might have a late night dance off with a tiny Vietnamese man!

Weren'tWolves

And only a day after Halloween! Not bad!!

STEAL THIS SHOW IS BACK!!!

STEAL THIS SHOW is back in action at Connie's Ric Rac!

Come out and enjoy your favorite South Philly comedy show hosted by Corey Cohen!

Featuring comedy from:
Jason Messina
Tabitha Vidaurri
Frank Tartaglia
Doogie Horner
Joey Dougherty
Aaron Hertzog

BYOB 21+
Only 10 bucks!
Friday, October 23
Doors @ 8pm

You'll laugh, you'll drink, you'll leave!

Updatejawn

"WTF is a Timejawn?"

"It's when time somethings over onto itself!"

Hey everybody! We had so much fun the past couple weeks performing our fantastic four show run of Timejawn. We learned a lot, about science, Jesus, and when it's not a good time to go number 2 (or 3 or 4).

We've also got a new video up on the Internet, which is straight from Timejawn and it's called Rock and Roll Pizza. We'll have more videos uploaded in the coming weeks, so keep your checking back here for more updates.

And be sure to check out this month's issue of The Comedians, there's an article about our epic journey to the Midwest.

We've also added a big, bulging load of photos to our slideshow, so check that jawn out.

Back from Chicago!

We're back from Chicago, and as some of you might know, we KICKED IT'S MONKEY ASS. Read all about it below in this post from Comic Vs. Audience. Thanks to Dave Walk and all the comedy kids in town for your support! Pics from the trip and info on upcoming shows soon to follow!! Yaaaaaaay!!!

Photo taken by C vs. A at The Sixth Borough's "Depression Isn't Just A River In Egypt" at Connie's Ric Rac this past April. We weren't in Chicago.

"It was fun to do it anyway but to the fact that we won a couple of festival trips made it much more worthwhile," said Corey Cohen a day after his group, Philadelphia's THE SIXTH BOROUGH, won not just the Audience but the Judges award at Chicago's Snubfest (presented by Chemically Inbalanced Comedy). With the awards came entrances toMilwaukee's Comedy Festival in August and 2010's Montreal Sketch Festival.

The other award from Snubfest went to Chicago's The Cool Table, who in turn earned entrance into the Philly Sketchfest later this year (dates haven't been announced yet, but best believe we'll be on top of it).

Meanwhile, plans are in the works for a hero's welcome home for The 6B similar to the Philadelphia Phillies victory parade last year (no, not really). They've just made us so proud, sniff.

If you don't understand it, it's probably genius. -- PART 5

After a quick cigarette and another cheeseburger, we were off into the great unknown, to find the fabled lands of Montana...
------

"Not so fast!" shouted a voice from the darkness adjacent to the lighter area.

The voice was so familiar, I froze. I dropped my cigarette and my cold hands began to sweat. Kurt turned to me.

"Man, that voice is so familar", he said. "Do you have a hand towel I could use?"

"How about you just dry your hands on my blowtorch you alien sac of shit!"

And from the aforementioned darkness stepped Bearded Kurt Russell. And without hesitation, my vagina imploded and then rebuilt itself stronger and more potent than ever.



"You! Narrator! If you value your life, and your newly strengthened front bottom, and if you have any hopes of the real Kurt Russell peeing white into it, then step away from that alien duplicate of me, the real Kurt Russell!"

"But...confused, too many K-Kurt Russells...bulging...", I stumbled at the sight of his excessive chin masculinity. 5 o'clock shaven Kurt Russell grabbed my arm.

"Don't listen to him! He's the alien! Look at the subtle blonde highlights peppered into my fashionably contructed mullet-hair! No alien could duplicate this so accurately!"

Bearded Kurt Russell shot a blast of hot fire into the air. "Enough! Ok! Ok! If you're not an alien, then you won't mind taking a little test to make sure!"

"Bring it!" 5 o'clock shaven Kurt Russell demanded.

"Alright! I'm going to shoot you with my blowtorch. If you start to burn, you're an alien. If you're truly Kurt Russell, your coating of chest sweat will repel the flames. I'll go second."

"Makes sense", I confirmed, and readied my camera phone.

-BANG! BANG!-

Two shots screamed out of the darkness, catching both Kurt Russells in the head, exploding Kurt Russell brains all over the cheeseburger tree.

Hence the Big Mac was born.

I screamed, and turned to run. A voice came from the darkness. Again.

"Don't be a pussy."

And from the black stepped a figure dressed in all...black. It was Eye-patch Kurt Russell.

"They were both aliens. I'm the real Kurt Russell. Look." He pointed down at their bodies which were now just steaming piles of green diarrhea. He gently kicked one of the piles.

"See? It's not Kurt. It's imitation."

I prodded one of the piles with a stick and flung some of the green diarrhea at the cheeseburger tree. Now we had Whoppers.

"But how do I know if you're the real Kurt Russell?"

He picked up the blowtorch and shot himself in the chest. The flames bounced right off.

"They were trying to get you to go to Montana, weren't they?"

"Yea! We need to find the Luddites! You see, after the internet blew-up, all the useless crap inside it, things like videos of dogs running into walls and peoples opinions, they all went into our heads and now we're having nightmares, and we have to---!"

"Slow down. Slow down. First of all, there aren't any more humans in Montana. They're all aliens. Those two were going to take you there so you could carry their alien babies. Good thing they didn't have a chance to have sex with you yet, seeing as how you just met them and all."

Hesitant, I responded.

"You're right! Good thing! After this though we definitely should celebrate and go eat some sushi. And push me down an escalator. You got a cigarette?"

"No. But I do have cigarellachinos. Mexican cigarettes. They're basically tacquitos, except you smoke them. Now, lets stop wasting time. We have alot to do before we stop the bad internet dreams."

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

The diarrhea carcass of Bearded Kurt Russell lunged at Eye-patch Kurt Russell. Eye-patch Kurt answered with a shotgun blast to the mouth.

-BLAM!-

"Now let's get the fucking fuck out of here..."

-Jason

"WDTRC" --- PART 3

"The Spirit turned away just as the Boy was sucked through the portal, spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors..."

--------

When we last left our organally challenged hero, he was spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors which could only mean one thing. He was headed back in time! To 1870! Oversized pocketwatches as big as his stomach, and crazy colors like gray, brown, sepia-tone, and brown again, whizzed around him sending him into a tizzy. "Help!" he shouted, but the sound was drowned out by a thousand phonographs playing "When Johnny comes marching home", from the Die Hard with a Vengeance soundtrack, in rounds. And just before The Boy with a stomach for a Face lost consciousness, a giant Jeremy Irons face appeared and said, "He was an asshole!
You got his number! number...number...number....asshole....."

MANY DAYS LATER-

The boy with a stomach for a face awoke, rubbed his nipples, and squinted up at the sun. A figure stepped over him blocking the light. "Do ye have any fish?"

"What? No. Where am I? Did you just call me an asshole?"

"Mine inquiry preceded your own."

"What?"

"I asked ye if ye have any fish to eat."

"No, do I look like I have any fish to eat?"

"No. Ye looks as though your pappy must've enjoyed a thorough nose blowing at the moment he dripped seed into your mother's sin den."

"Who told you to say that?! Was it Matthew Guntherclit?! I don't care what he says! I told him not to stick his finger in my butt-ear!"

"So, can ye teach me how to fish?"

"No! Why would I teach you how to fish? You just made fun of me! And how come you're dressed like a person from the 1870s? Specifically."

"I might ask ye the same thing. For instance, why does your shirt appear to have purposeful tears in it and drawings of skulls that can fly? Are ye a hobo demon? Possibly a low-income specter?"

"No! This is my new t-shirt I got so the other kids won't make fun of me. It's from the hippest most coolest store in the mall! Hollister! Yea!"

"What did ye say? Repeat that."

"Yea!"

"The thing before it."

"Butt-ear?"

"Too far."

"Hollister?"

"Yes! What does ye know of the mysterious Hollister?"

And the Boy with a stomach for a face thought for a moment, carefully choosing what he would say next...

Whisper Down the Red Corpse - Part 2

Then the Boy with a stomach for a face ran out into the backyard, tears streaming from his toenails.---

PART 2 ----

The Boy ran and ran. He tripped, then fell. Then, again with the running. He ran until he was in the woods, and all was dark around him. There he entered a clearing. He collapsed to the ground, tired, hungry, and ugly.

"Why!? Why must I look like this?" he shouted into the still black air.

"Because-um" said a voice, "Your people violated a most ancient code-um."

The boy jumped up, wiping his feet free of tears with his boner fingers. "Who is there?" he asked, with fear in his voice and bird shit in his hair.

"I am the spirit of the forest, ugly one-um." said the voice. Then, from the trees, entered the spirit of the forest. He was a tall gray man, with a big hat covered in feathers, and a t-shirt that said "Spirit of the Forest" on it.

"Are you a g-g-g-ghost?" asked the Boy, frightened enough that his ears retracted into his chest.

"Are you ugly-um?" asked the Spirit rhetorically, as both he and the Boy clearly knew the answer was yes, and it did not need to be explained, especially to an intelligent reader such as yourself.

"So then what are you doing here? How did I get here? Can you tell me why I am so fucking ugly?" asked the Boy.

"You see-um," said the Spirit in a deep, somber voice, "you are the result of the white man's abuse of my people's ancient secret nuclear power plant..."

The Boy watched the Spirit as several seconds passed. "Right..."

"That's it," said the Spirit, clearly irritated. "Did you think it was more complicated-um?"

"I guess I assumed it would be." said the Boy as he confusedly picked his elbow nose with his boner. "So if it was so obvious, why did you come here to tell me?"

"Oh, yes-um..." said the Spirit, taking out his magic wand."I forgot."

The Spirit flicked his wrist, and suddenly a wormhole ripped open on the far edge of the clearing, and started sucking in the Boy with a power he couldn't escape. As the Boy began to be drawn in, the Spirit turned to him, and in that deep voice that made the Boy's boner fingers stand on end, said "Good luck-um. You are in for some serious weirdness."

The Spirit turned away just as the Boy was sucked through the portal, spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors...

TUNE IN TOMORROW