Behold the new song I wrote and recorded with my band, Modern Beast. It's an ode to a legend...a sunny summer single...2 mins of AM soft-rock gold. Share the love for the Brooklyn Thong Guy!
See Tim perform stand-up @ littlefield! WATCH ON YOUTUBE
As part of the 3rd Annual NY Funny Song Fest, produced by the amazing Jessica Delfino, I'll be co-hosting and performing in Hooklyn: Funny Songs from & about Brooklyn on Sat, May 31, 8:30 pm at People's Republic of Brooklyn (247 Smith St). GET TIX ($10)! ($12 at the door)
I'll also be on the bill at 50 Funny Songs on Fri, May 30, 7 pm at Botanic Lab (86 Orchard St, NYC) -- an exciting and sure to be sold-out night of the fest. GET TIX ($10)! ($12 at the door)
Don't miss NYC'S only comedy, parody, and novelty music festival! www.nyfunnysongs.com
Here I am, pimpin' it at the Fest last year...
MORE INFO ABOUT HOOKLYN!
Mo Fathelbab and Tim Ellis, hosts of Manifesto! bring you HOOKLYN: Funny Songs from & about Brooklyn. Capping off a day of special shows at PRB, as part of the 3rd Annual NY Funny Songs Fest, comedic musicians perform their greatest hits about NYC’s most populous, hip, and hilarious borough! Featuring Chromatic Stampede, Jessica Delfino, Killy “Mockstar” Dwyer, Tim Ellis, King I’Wante, Jim Melloan, Lauren Maul, Rob Paravonian and more. $10 in advance CLICK HERE/$12 at the door.
4 a.m. Tim and Michelle, a hip and sexy Brooklyn couple, lie in bed. Michelle has earplugs in. Out of the predawn serenity, Tim farts.
TIM: Excuse me.
MICHELLE: (Taking out one earplug.) What?
TIM: (To audience.) I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d already said “excuse me.” Why make two announcements?
MICHELLE: Did you say something?
MICHELLE: (Pause.) Did you fart?
TIM: (Trying to think of a witty response but giving up.) Yes. (Tim farts.)
MICHELLE: Your ass needs to let me sleep. (Puts earplug back in.)
TIM: My ass does what it wants. It answers to no one.
MICHELLE: (Taking out earplug.) What?
TIM: (Louder.) I said, my ass answers to no one.
MICHELLE: It’s gonna answer to me if it doesn’t be quiet. (Pause.) Maybe this plug should go somewhere else. (Puts earplug in her ear.)
TIM: (To audience.) Someone please give us a sitcom, ‘cause we’re killing it here.
MICHELLE: (Taking out earplug.) What did you say?
Pause. Tim farts. No one speaks. Silence engulfs the cosmos.
George Clooney is getting married to Amal Alamuddin, a British human-rights lawyer. This is a very big deal, since not that many people get married. But to someone like me, who turned in his bachelor card long ago—after dating my own share of actresses, models, and professional wrestlers—tying the knot is old hat. So I thought I’d share some advice with my fellow man, the Cloonster, on how to get through to “I do.”
BACHELOR PARTY: GO EXTREME!
Rather than strippers or the clichéd Vegas trip, George, I recommend an extreme sports activity that your buds can bond over—like bowling at Chelsea Piers. That’s what me and my man-posse did, and we had a blast! Order some pitchers of Bud and chow down on chicken fingers while scoring your last strike as a free man. However, I suggest not scheduling your bachelor party in the afternoon, as there’s a good chance that a 13-year-old girl’s birthday bash will be taking place the next lane over—something your pals will rib you about for years to come. (Lots of screaming, balloons, and Silly String.) Or maybe an Ocean’s Eleven- or Syriana-themed party would be more your style. It’s your party…can’t wait to be there, Cloons!
This week, Alec Baldwin published a New York Magazine piece announcing that he is getting out of the city, and the public eye, for good. I just want to say, to showbiz and the media—I’m willing to take his place. I think I’m really right for the job, because Alec Baldwin and I have a lot in common.
For one thing, our hair is kind of similar. (See photo above.)
Alec Baldwin is known as a great New York actor, the kind of guy you might see performing in Shakespeare in the Park. I’ve done Shakespeare in a Parking Lot, on the Lower East Side. What could be more “New York” than having a Dept. of Sanitation truck drive through during your soliloquy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?
Alec Baldwin was on 30 Rock for seven seasons, and I auditioned for 30 Rock once. I didn’t get the part, but I almost had a scene with Alec Baldwin, and I’m sure we would’ve become close, because we’re so much alike.
Alec Baldwin was married to Kim Basinger, and I’ve had sex with Kim Basinger many times, in my mind. (It’s usually like that scene in 9 ½ Weeks—she’s blindfolded, and I’m feeding her exotic foods, like nachos and buffalo wings. She’ll be like, “What’s that?” You know, all turned on. And I’ll say, “Blue cheese, babe.” Then I go to the fridge to get something else to tantalize her with, and Mickey Rourke shows up. He says, “Waddaya got there…guacamole?” I’m like, Mickey, get out of here! Kim and I are having food sex!” She says, “Who’s that?” I say, “Nobody.” She says, “Is that Mickey Rourke?” I’m like, “No, he’s not here.” She says, “Mickey…? Did you say guacamole?” Mickey Rourke is like, “Hey, Kim, what’s up?” She says, “This is getting weird” and takes off her blindfold. I’m like, “What do you mean? It’s my fantasy, so why are you saying it’s weird?!”) But I digress.
Lastly, I’m not a homophobe, and neither is Alec Baldwin (according to his article, which I do believe).
So you see, I’m the perfect person to fill the Alec Baldwin-sized hole that will be left in all New Yorkers’ lives. Maybe I’m a little less famous, now, and the paparazzi aren’t beating down my door. But what I have that he doesn’t is the desire to be a public figure. I welcome the attention, I need it, and won’t go running to some remote, off-the-media-grid place, like Los Angeles. So, New York, my door is open…come inside. Stalk me, misquote me, make my life hell. I’ll even punch you in the face.
The Olympics have gotten too competitive. Have you noticed that, for some people, winning bronze is the crowning achievement of a lifetime? But for others, it means never being able to show your face in your country again? I think everyone should win something. So I’ve come up with some ideas for other prizes—besides gold, silver, and bronze medals—that could be awarded by the Olympic committee.
4th place: a plaque made out of actual podium materials, signed by the three medal-winners, saying, “Nice try. Better luck in four years.”
5th–10th place: a stray dog to take home with you. (You get a nice pet!)
11th place: a set of steak knives.
20th–29th place: the latest Pussy Riot album with all objectionable lyrics personally removed by Vladimir Putin. (It’s a 90-min blank CD, but hey, that’s cool.)
30th–39th place: a copy of Putin’s own dance-pop album, Putin on the Hits!
40th–49th place: a naturally polished rock from one of Sochi’s beautiful Black Sea beaches (that you happened to find on a walk one day).
50th–58th place: a tin can on a string with a Sharpie (write whatever you want on it).
59th place: a brand new car! (Why not mix it up a little, add a lottery element? Then people might actually want to come in 59th.)
66th to next-to-last place: a free 6-piece Chicken McNuggets. (You know that McDonald’s commercial where people are biting McNuggets and imagining them to be gold medals? Basically, you can do that.)
Last place: a custom-embossed envelope containing deportation papers from your home country.
Participation award: everyone who competes gets a commemorative T-shirt. I’ve been working on the design, below…