Joselyn Hughes: Blog

i always wondered why no one ever questioned that lunatic.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 22:21:00 GMT

they must have deleted this scene.

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today’s Big Thing.

wine not?

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 21:31:00 GMT

finally, someone over there listened to the goddamn comment cards.

up yours, buddy!

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 20:59:00 GMT

i’ve been doing comedy for awhile now, but part of me kind of wishes i had started doing stand up earlier.

like at the age of seven.

it would have been right smack dab in the stand up comedy boom of the eighties; when people were willing to throw down fifty bucks and pack out theaters to watch gallagher smash watermelons.

i would have combed my hair back, worn a little tuxedo and gone onstage to recite tired one liners that all ended with the line, “up yours, buddy!”

and people would laugh; laugh like crazy. i would get booked like crazy. i’d open for paula poundstone and at the height of my career i’d do a special with andrew dice clay, smoking candy cigarettes and drinking ginger beer.

he’d do a bit, i’d look at him, roll my eyes, and say, “up yours, buddy!” 100% hilarity.

i would gone on to make guest appearances on family matters, perhaps a hollywood square or two, and then slowly start to lose everything in a fierce battle with alcohol and drugs. afterall, i was a child star.

then hollywood would be done with me.

“up yours, buddy” would begin to take over most of my vernacular. i’d show up in a grocery store, pizza hut, or walk up on random family reunions in parks and start doing my act. people would call the police, and i’d scream things like, “don’t you know who i am? you’re making a big mistake! up yours, ASSHOLE!” and they’d pull me away in cuffs, muttering things about erkel and i’s inside jokes being more genius than any regular civilian would ever understand.

e! would never do my true hollywood story, but you’d see me in the background doing drugs in a couple episodes where they profiled stars that had actually reached some kind of real fame—that would be enough to keep me thinking i was still making it.

i’d creep people out by wearing a tuxedo and asking for change and/or cocaine in dive bars. i would forget that i had grown up and was unrecognizable, or that no one really had ever seen me in the first place.

and then, by the age of which i am currently, i would have really done it. really made it happen. really done the deal.

AND maybe, just maybe, be lucky enough to be on “the surreal life” or “celebrity rehab with dr. drew.”

and while i never accomplished real fame, at least i’d get to witness vern troyer peeing in the corner of the room in the middle of the night. everyone’s got dreams, guys.

if only i would have gotten off my duff in ‘87. dammit.

i had to.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 20:56:00 GMT

(click on it)

sleep it off.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 23:29:00 GMT

After behaving like an irresponsible idiot all weekend in Portland at the Bridgetown Comedy Fest, I knew my return to normal life would be rough.
But it was rougher than expected.

Sunday night – my first night back to bed at a decent hour – was spent doing anything but sleeping. I tossed, turned, and grumbled to myself throughout the night and sluggishly into work the next morning with little to no sleep. Monday night, I told myself, would be dedicated to seriously getting my shit back together.

And what does that mean to this grown woman?
Popping a friend’s sleeping pill at 10pm and crawling into bed, praying it would solve my sleeping issues.

Good news; people who don’t take sleeping pills. They work. Well. Very well.

I woke up this morning in love. Absolutely in love with sleep and it’s glorious rewards. My eyes opened slowly; gently, like a group of fluffy love bunnies and kittens nuzzled their way into my bed and jostled me ever so slightly so I would awaken. I looked around and thought about how splendid the world was and how I wanted to be in that bed forever. I was warmed with admiration. Physically, I was without any pain, as if sleep had given me some magical 8-hour long Swedish massage. I wanted to tell the world about my newfound love, spread the word about it’s perfect feeling and greatness.
I was deep this new experience.

I pulled myself out of bed, leisurely got ready for work, and as I did, my passionate flame for sleep started to dwindle. Fast. It kept fading throughout my day and there was nothing I could do to save it. I began to panic, worried that the amazing feeling was just a one time event and I’d never feel the overwhelming enormity of it ever again.

What would I do? How would I survive? My world was crumbling. My outlook was bleak, and as my body lost that amazing, cozy sensation that had changed everything I knew earlier, I got really sad.

But then my friend told me I just she had given me a much more powerful sleeping pill than she thought she did, and was probably just feeling the drugs from it. “Sorry” she said. “You probably shouldn’t have taken that one.”

Sorry indeed.

Oh, well. Here’s to taking drugs that weren’t prescribed to you and still thinking that love is just an illusion!

a girl can dream...

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 16 Apr 2010 07:16:00 GMT

I awake to the sound of cursing as you slam our front door and head towards your rusted ‘87 Blazer. You must have decided to work today.
I sit up and am immediately reminded of the night before. My head hurts so much I’m don’t know if it’s from the Jack Daniels or the screaming match we had over who’s turn it was to sit on the heated massage chair pad placed on our 17 year old La-z-boy. I don’t know much in general.

I remember that I’m supposed to be angry at you. I go into the bathroom. I heat up my curling iron, light a cigarette, and curl my bangs up into sweet nest of Aqua Net and bad taste. Our overweight cat, Chubbs, jumps onto his favorite spot on the back of the toilet and I begin to cry and ask him for advice. We haven’t changed his litterbox in months. The smell of our one bedroom apartment explains that to those who haven’t yet learned that lesson and unknowingly come over. I throw on my favorite Iron Maiden tee shirt, Wranglers and cakey mascara.

I watch three hours of Judge Judy.

I drive to the local Culver’s, where my best friend Darcy is the manager. She lets me come hang out with her in her management office in the back. We pass a crummy joint made from her skanky pot while she feeds me fried cheese curds and tells me I can do so much better. Her son does drive thru, and if I really want I can apply to do the graveyard shift and sleep on her couch ‘til I get it together. I know. I remind her of the last time we worked together. She points to a scar and although laughing because she’s high; makes it evident it may be time to go.

As I drive, I decide that I really do love you and I’m not that angry. I love you so much so I go to the Pick-N-Save and pickup some Boone’s Farm and Gorton’s frozen fish sticks. I return home to prepare our special makeup supper. You’re home early; you decided you didn’t like Speedway no more and you ask me who I’ve curled up my bangs to go see while you were hard at work makin’ us money.

I say nobody, but a vicious screaming match ensues despite my claim. I pull out the box of Gorton’s frozen fish sticks to show you what a bastard you are and to throw them at your ass face and soon realize you’re throwing them back at me as one hits me in my bad eye. I have to take a knee to regain my balance.

During that slight pause, our attention turns to the teevee.

We both laugh over a Denny’s commercial and realize at this point we love each other more than ever. We pick up some of the frozen fish sticks- which now are covered in cat hair, cigarette ashes, and litter from the cat box- rinse em off and cook em up while drinking Strawberry Field’s Boones straight from the bottle. Later we’ll make a digusting, sloppy attempt at having sex while we both secretly keep watching “WWF’s Raw” on TV out of the corners of our eyes.

Damn that Stone Cold’s fine.
You complete me.

some. jokes.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 15:18:00 GMT

joselyn hughes @ purple onion from joselyn hughes on Vimeo.

I have my reasons.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 19:48:00 GMT

*Note: Completely inappropriate ad in front of this video, Tuna Helper.

This scientist says that killer whale that killed that woman this week did it for “whale reasons.”

What reasons could a whale have? Hmm.

WHALE REASONS
1. I am hungry
2. You mock my lack of freedom daily
3. I am a whale

read this!

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 21:04:00 GMT

the comedy nerds dot com interviewed me for their site. please go over and check it out!

lonnie

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 17:56:00 GMT

hey friends.

sometimes there are things in life that you just need to know about, and that’s why i’m here for you—and probably why you’re on this site in the first place. so i’m going to deliver.

introducing lonnie, my new favorite you tuber of all time.

at first you may think, what the FUCK is this, joselyn? why are you showing us this? but then you begin to watch more of his videos. you begin to understand his world. you begin to understand his life.

i give you: lonnie, ‘boxer poops in the ocean.’ (2008).

wah wah

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 08:55:00 GMT

“wah wah, nine to fives suck!”
-this dumb baby

holiday time.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 04:34:00 GMT

This Christmas I received a lovely set of handmade saffron colored mittens from Ratso. I was excited; they were warm, soft, and just the right size. But there was a couple problems with this present, as

a) Ratso is a dog and
b) Rasto has been dead for 27 years.

So he technically didn’t know I would love them, or that they matched my ensemble, or that my hands had been cold for weeks. He’s dead. And a dog. But I wasn’t surprised that a dead dog gave me a present for Christmas.

My family has this weird tradition of giving each other gifts from the family’s animals: dead or alive. We don’t discriminate between cats, dogs, fish, and hamsters. We like to pretend they’ve been out shopping and thoughtfully picking out gifts for each and every one of us. We think they usually shop together. Perhaps they compare prices and use coupons. They even bring their purchases to our house where my mother is kind enough to let them use her wrapping paper to wrap them up and then place them underneath our Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.

Most families get presents from Santa. They set out some cookies and milk and wait until the morning for their Christmas dreams to come true. And we did too.

But the good presents would always come from the animals. When I was younger, I’d set out doggie biscuits and freeze dried liver next to Santa’s plate and fall asleep dreaming of dead ghost dogs coming down the chimney and stuffing my stocking with goodies.

When I was ten years old someone at the playground told me that there was no such thing as gift giving ghost animals and I ran home to my parents with tears streaming down my face. My mother comforted me and told me the story of Christmas and the Hughes family from beginning to end. It was then I realized my family was truly the only household where our animals from the past and present magically distributed gifts on Christmas Eve.

As I grew up and all of us found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real, it didn’t upset me.
Obviously Santa wasn’t the one who gave us Hughes’ our Christmas presents.

My family may be the only family in the world who knows about animal gift givers, and the only family that celebrates and embraces it.

But I am so glad we do, because as it turns out, my dead dog from 1982 has excellent taste.

this is nonsense.

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 08:50:00 GMT

Create Your Own!

Get real, Urban Outfitters

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 05:07:00 GMT

Urban Outfitters, there are so many things wrong with you. You’re owned by a right wing nut, you own most of the “brands” you sell at the store, you steal designs, and you rip off millions of people across the country with your overpriced bullshit.

Usually, I ignore you like the awful hipster girls I used to work with in New York that bragged about doing tons of coke at art parties while comparing about their bowl haircuts- because like them, you’re obnoxious. But this, I cannot ignore:

Urban Outfitters, how dare you sell Macrame Owls for $32 a piece to your brainwashed masses!? How dare you attempt to sell something that someone wouldn’t be caught dead picking out of a free bin at a yard sale?! How dare you be so cocky and pretentious you straight up decide to sell the single ugliest thing to come out of the 1970’s?

I guess because you can.

It’s brilliant, really. I’m just pissed I didn’t think of it first. Real pissed.

I’ll be okay for now, but the minute these irony loving assholes that shop at your store start having babies, it’s all over. I don’t want to think of what the world will become. I just keep imagining babies with mullets listening to Peter Bjorn and John. Yuck.

The Comedy Central Roast of Joan Rivers

joselyn@joselynhughes.com (Joselyn Hughes) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 22:52:00 GMT

Yeah, it’s August and I haven’t been posting much. But summer is for swimming and grilling. And Comedy Central roasts.
The CC Insider had me cover the Roast of Joan Rivers on the red (white) carpet and I had tons of fun. Got to put on a dress, some heels, and ask cool funny people what they thought about the grand event.

Red Carpet Vlog

www.comedycentral.com

Joke of the Day

Stand-Up Comedy

Free Online Games

And check back at the CC Insider for more posts from me about the big day.