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Robert Kelly & sometimes Colin Quinn quotes thread
- Thread starter DMAN
- Start date
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Come to think of it, you’ve never said anything about CQ really. Thoughts, comments? I assume he didn’t interact that much with you?
BenDovid
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You people are honest to god retarded. You really think that everyone associated with the show was friends and hung out and we all went to each other houses and ate dinner and played N64 or some shit.
Colin was a guest on the show. He comes in. Says hello. Does his shit and leaves. Why the fuck would I have stories or shit about Quinn. That was most of the interactions. Do you guys hang out with people who have visited your work, after work? Why would I? Quinn is a guest so we hung out at the Cellar or something? A lot of you have this childlike whimsy when it comes to the show. S'just a job bro. Go to work, come home. Rinse and repeat. It's not this gay clubhouse of comedians and friends you all want it to have been.
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Are you actually this retarded? You even quote “I assume he didn’t interact that much with you?”. You’ve talked shit about burr, and Bob Kelly just yesterday. It’s not an absurd question and you even acknowledged I was correct in my presumption in the question itself. Danny, put down the drink. Anthony isn’t coming back bud. She doesn’t want you to feed her anymore.
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BenDovid
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Yup! The Danny effect! Once you learn I was involved it's suddenly shitty.
SOSITCHES? Never thought it was funny.
What's wrong with the BLANK we got? Lame. Never quoted it, ever.
David & Bobo? That was all them. Nobody was behind it. If anybody it was Sam and just Sam.
8 Track Porn? HYSTERICAL! Wait. Who handed it in? Ehhhh, it's not THAT good.
Tippy Top being fed a rigged hand? I mean...I GUESS it was OKAAAAAAY.....
Every single News Tease / Wild News Story. SHIT. DERIVITIVE.
Hiring David & Sam? Wack moves. Mid at best.
Erik ate MAYONAISE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH HE'S THE BEST!!!!! HE WAS SO GOOD AT BEING TREATED LIKE A BITCH!!!! LOVE THAT EROCK!!!
SAM DOESN'T LIKE STEAK! AHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Danny was unreasonably upset during a Guitar Hero bit, let's all dwell on that for *checks watch* 19 years?
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Reminder: earlier today in another thread, @BenDovid was scoffing at someone saying he comes on here and has meltdowns. It’s a few minutes out of his day, he says. Just a little quick fun pop-in.
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I think Danny's a little upset
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But let’s get to the other fellow traveler on the Iraq journey, one James “Mommy, why does that man have a cascading neck?” Norton. It was my tour, and like a magnanimous Sunni chieftain I was kind enough to bring Jim along. He came cheap. His dressing room rider included: wood chips instead of a rug, a giant wheel for exercise, and pellet food.
The first few shows went off without a hitch. Then we hit New Year’s Eve. We’re in the tent getting ready for the big show at one of Saddam’s palaces, when the USO representative, Tracy, informs us that, due to possible danger from incoming insurgent fire, the show might have to be canceled.
Of course, I took this news with the grace and low-key humility that I’ve worked tirelessly to display. So everything is fine. Laurie is cool. Ellen is cool. Tracy is cool. I’m cool. But then suddenly I hear a quiet buzzing in the tent.
At first I thought it was one of the giant flying insects that have been flying around this part of the world since the Old Testament. I looked around for a newspaper to put a stop to it, when suddenly we all looked and realized it wasn’t an insect—at least not in the conventional sense. No, it was Jim muttering to himself and walking spastically around the room in circles waiting for someone to notice him and ask what was the problem.
Tracy or Ellen inquired and Jim, with a look of sullen reproach on his idiotic baby face, blurts out, “I’ve been doing comedy for twelve years, and I’ve never missed a New Year’s show.” He sulks dramatically; the rest of us stand in stunned silence.
Let me state the situation one more time. We were in Iraq. In a war zone. There are boys and girls putting their young bodies in harm’s way every day to defend our barely defensible way of life here in the United States. They’re not getting a lot of high-profile celebrity visits. (I know that you knew that from the fact that we were there.) But the celebrities that do visit at least give these brave youngsters the reassurance that people appreciate the sacrificial nature of what they are trying to do.
In the midst of that, this incubated hatchling is strutting around, quacking, feathers ruffling, because people don’t realize that this trip is not about giving brief respite to the nineteen-year-olds seeing the frontline horrors and depravities that will never leave their minds. No, no, no, no, no. That’s important, sure. But more pressing is keeping the torch lit on the unnoticed and immaterial New Year’s record of this ludicrous goblin.
I bet our troops would have doubled their valor and courage if they knew that they were protecting the right of a drone to live in a movie within his own mind—a movie in which twelve December 31s in various New Jersey townships drinking a post-show glass of cream soda while being treated to a perfunctory suck-off by a bewildered blubber bunny trying not to smear her hair glitter matter at all, to anyone.
That’s why we could never win in Iraq, because we’re all under the impression that our way of life is precious. Even a guy like Jim Norton is clinging to his one empty tradition like anyone gives a care. My prayers for his death, as always, went unanswered.
The first few shows went off without a hitch. Then we hit New Year’s Eve. We’re in the tent getting ready for the big show at one of Saddam’s palaces, when the USO representative, Tracy, informs us that, due to possible danger from incoming insurgent fire, the show might have to be canceled.
Of course, I took this news with the grace and low-key humility that I’ve worked tirelessly to display. So everything is fine. Laurie is cool. Ellen is cool. Tracy is cool. I’m cool. But then suddenly I hear a quiet buzzing in the tent.
At first I thought it was one of the giant flying insects that have been flying around this part of the world since the Old Testament. I looked around for a newspaper to put a stop to it, when suddenly we all looked and realized it wasn’t an insect—at least not in the conventional sense. No, it was Jim muttering to himself and walking spastically around the room in circles waiting for someone to notice him and ask what was the problem.
Tracy or Ellen inquired and Jim, with a look of sullen reproach on his idiotic baby face, blurts out, “I’ve been doing comedy for twelve years, and I’ve never missed a New Year’s show.” He sulks dramatically; the rest of us stand in stunned silence.
Let me state the situation one more time. We were in Iraq. In a war zone. There are boys and girls putting their young bodies in harm’s way every day to defend our barely defensible way of life here in the United States. They’re not getting a lot of high-profile celebrity visits. (I know that you knew that from the fact that we were there.) But the celebrities that do visit at least give these brave youngsters the reassurance that people appreciate the sacrificial nature of what they are trying to do.
In the midst of that, this incubated hatchling is strutting around, quacking, feathers ruffling, because people don’t realize that this trip is not about giving brief respite to the nineteen-year-olds seeing the frontline horrors and depravities that will never leave their minds. No, no, no, no, no. That’s important, sure. But more pressing is keeping the torch lit on the unnoticed and immaterial New Year’s record of this ludicrous goblin.
I bet our troops would have doubled their valor and courage if they knew that they were protecting the right of a drone to live in a movie within his own mind—a movie in which twelve December 31s in various New Jersey townships drinking a post-show glass of cream soda while being treated to a perfunctory suck-off by a bewildered blubber bunny trying not to smear her hair glitter matter at all, to anyone.
That’s why we could never win in Iraq, because we’re all under the impression that our way of life is precious. Even a guy like Jim Norton is clinging to his one empty tradition like anyone gives a care. My prayers for his death, as always, went unanswered.
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Bobby reading a MySpace message: Has Colin finally figured out that he was worse at Weekend Update than Norm McDonald? He was the last to know. I guess he started a trend since everyone after him was even less funny.
Colin: Hm well I guess I could take that as a compliment.
Colin: Hm well I guess I could take that as a compliment.