My name is Tyllet Skellar. I was born the fifth of thirty-two children one fateful day in the sweltering Summer of 1932 in Sakamasoo, Missouri.

I’m told I came out cross-eyed with webbed-feet and a peciluar fondness for carrots… later, I got the typhoid and my eyes went back to normal. To this day, my parents still say it’s a miracle that I have those webbed-feet.

I wont sugarcoat shit for you, it was hard growing up. We only had three pair of pants to share among the thirty-two of us. Food was scarce, we all suffered from a lack of education, and Ultimate Frisbee hadn’t been invented yet…. Hard times did indeed abound.

My brothers and I all shared a bunkbed that was twelve feet high and shook like my Pa’s hand before he had his morning coffee.

Well, we were supposed to share it but most nights I fell asleep outside, dreaming about what it’d be like to be a Space Cowboy drinking Space Whiskey on a comet with Moonbeams and other kids with webbed-feet would be there too. But those was just dreams.

My parents were Tobacco farmers. Had been since FDR’s twin brother (Flobberton Delanor Roosevelt) lost the farm to my Pa on account of a bad hand of Gin Rummy. To this day FrDR still claims he was swindled out of the land (which he most defintely was as my Pa loved to recount the story about how he cheated the shit out of him).

We lived a simple life. Most of us kids just talked to the frogs and sat staring at the Sun.

Ma and Pa tried there best to put supper on the table when they could, but it was hard (especially since we had to sell the table to pay for my Pa’s fancy subdries addiction).

It all came to a head one night when…



  • 10,000 lightbulbs
  • Diamond-encrusted glitter
  • A case of shoehorns
  • Kleenex Boxes filled with horse semen
  • Chandelier (that looks like Chandler from FRIENDS)
  • Meat! Meat!! Meat!!!
  • Jacket made out of bats that look like jackets
  • Shoes that are really envelopes
  • Rape whistle amulets
  • Glitter-encrusted diamonds
  • Velcro
  • AIDS Quilt Cape
  • Face mask composed entirely out of fingernail clippings of Little Monsters
  • Bigger Egg
  • Sleeveless-sleeves
  • Diaper eye patch
  • Glitter-encrusted meat diamonds
  • Mini-Cooper skirt
  • Motorized sarcophagus
  • Fanny-pack filled with microchips and Gummi bears
  • Member’s Only jean jacket
  • Fierce Utility Belt
  • Earingtones
  • Dignity

Dear People Who Clip Your Nails In Public

Dear People Who Clip Your Nails In Public,

I feel like we shouldn’t even be having this dialogue. It’s like me telling you not to shit in someone’s bunkbed, set loose all their trained Falcons, or continue to insist that 9/11 wasn’t committed by a bunch of janitors that just wanted to cause some hijinks… this is day one stuff. But for whatever reason you continue to be not just a nuisance but a scourge on society. This is no longer cuticle.

Why in God’s nametag do you think it’s justifiable to clip your fingernails in public? “It’s just a part of my body that grows, man… RELAX.” No man, I won’t relax. I won’t go “jogging” or “watch what I eat” or “give up my dream of having sex with all the world Professional Yo-Yo’ers in South America” or “stop criticizing other people for their small foibles even though I have a million of my own.” In fact, as of today I’m going to fight public disgusting body ignorance with even more disgusting body ignorance. BUT PURPOSEFUL IGNORANCE THAT I’M COMPLETELY AWARE OF. The next time I see you on the Subway or at your desk or behind the counter at Orange Julius clipping your fingercovers, I will do one to all of the following:

  • Order a delicious Orange Julius!
  • Give myself a buzzcut while standing directly over you
  • Shave my chest while giving you the “stinkeye” (that’s my bellybutton with stink lines I drew coming ‘out of it’ with sharpie)
  • Perform a briss within five yards of your person
  • Check my balls for testicular cancer while doing a play-by-play narration in my best John Madden voice
  • Perform a sponge bath on the person sitting/standing directly next to you
  • Give you the “poor man’s facial” (see: sneeze on your face)

If you cease and desist, I will too. Also, if you’re the same person that listens to music from the speakerphone on their cellphone I WILL BUY YOU A SET OF HEADPHONES.

Please stop being Mini-Hitlers.

Thanks in advance!!!


Sam Grittner

An Open Letter on Why, I, Herman Cain Should Be President of the USA

Herman Cain
Herman Cain

Dear America: The Cost is Never Cheap But The Crust is Always Deep!

(An Open Letter on Why, I, Herman Cain Should Be President of the USA)

Hello America! My name is Herman Cain, allow me to introduce myself. Oh wait I just did…. allow me to re-introduce myself:

I’m best known as ‘R-Pizzy’ or the “Republican Pizza Candidate” because I used to be the CEO of Godfather’s pizza. That’s right: GODFATHER’S PIZZA.

Many of you might think that doesn’t qualify me to be President of the most powerful and influential country in all Space and Time. You’d be wrong. I’ve got all the essential, mouth-watering ingredients it takes to be a leader: integrity, backbone, sauciness, peppers, onions, and over FIVE DIFFERENT KINDS OF CHEESES. Oh and I hate abortions!

I may have been the CEO but I still know running a pizza place is hard work, just like the White House: you got a lot of things cooking at once, you’re trying to please a lot of people, lots of weird smells, and there are rats everywhere.

I don’t just have beliefs. I have convictions and principles that run deeper than any dish. I believe EVERYONE is equal: whether they’re small, medium, or large (just not gays or Muslims).

Gays in the military? Look, I like sausage on my pie from time to time but in the privacy of my home!

Abortion rights? Abortion’s wrong!

I know the Middle East like I know yeast!

America deserves results and I can deliver them in under three terms or less.

And when you elect me you get a Vice-President for free!

I don’t mean to drop names but the ‘Noid has come up. FREQUENTLY.

A lot of people say I’m a liability because I’ve never held a government post. Well, I’ve never held Anne Heche but I bet I could!

As President, I promise the following: 1/2 off all current corporate taxes, 86’ing abortions, new ovens for EVERY American, free advice from my Nana, and as much GODFATHER’s swag as you want! I’m talking pens, stickers, and giant magnets for your car!!!!!

My name is Herman Cain. And my beliefs have no expiration date.


(ORIGINALLY POSTED: Thursday, November 3rd)

‘CONAN’ was amazing last night. He interviewed Matthew Broderick and Paul Simon performed. Are you fucking kidding me?!? PAUL SIMON!

The show was beyond my expectations. The monologue was spot on, the videos were hysterical, his band was sooooo good! The sketches absolutely killed and the highlight of the night was seeing comedy legend Eddie Peppitone perform just a few rows away. Conan was in his element. Calculated insanity. Andy Richter has PERFECT timing…. it was just amazing.

What’s even crazier is I got to meet heroes/legends/comedians: Todd LevinAndres DubouchetJesse Popp, and Eddie Pepitone on Monday night after seeing them all perform (and murder) at UCB’s WHIPLASH!. They are all as classy as they come.

I’ve been performing/writing for the last twelve years and this last year has presented me with some of the biggest opportunities yet. I’ve met some of the nicest, hardest working people in the business and I’m so thankful for it.

All I’m saying is: whatever you love, stick with it for the long haul. It just might pay off.Conan in NYC CONAN in NYC 2

Jesse Popp and Me
Jesse Popp and Me
Andrés du Bouchet
Andrés du Bouchet
Todd Levin and Me
Todd Levin and Me
Eddie Pepitone "The Bitter Buddha" and Me
Eddie Pepitone “The Bitter Buddha” and Me