eli yudin

@eliyudin.com

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comedian :( POD: @whatatimepod.bsky.social IG: instagram.com/yahootoolbar TWITCH: twitch.tv/pig_dog NEWSLETTER: humbleoffering.com

garfield caught in the act for sega genesis
The thing is, I now have fifteen years of comedy and creative pursuits under my belt, and if anything, I desperately wish for more outright rejection. Because, unlike the bon mot would suggest, rejection is not the most common response to putting yourself out there. In my experience, what you need to be ready to bear above all else is an immense amount of indifference. Which, to me, is vastly more destructive to the spirit. Rejection is a concrete obstacle, something to bookmark and build from or, possibly, use as a sort of vile creative fuel. I wouldn’t suggest the latter as a path to emotional health, but it works for some people. Even that, though, requires a “no” as a base. Whenever I hear some actor talking about how they kept every rejection letter they ever received, all pinned to their bedroom wall as morning motivation, I just think, “they sent you letters?” Which is some extremely sad-sack type of shit to say, but that’s where these sorts of pursuits tend to leave you. Especially when, as said sack, you’re forced doubly to confront your feelings about it given the arrival of an age demanding you really consider how the goals (or, yuck, DREAMS even) you’ve committed so much of your no-longer-young life to are working out. I’m thirty-five years old, and a mid-life reckoning is upon me with a level of clockwork that’s discouraging in itself.
article screenshot: I’m on record with a mixture of deep appreciation and jealousy for the amount of televised creative outlets afforded to comics in the UK. I’m sure this is an incredibly sugar-coated view, and I’m sure that there’s an incredibly buffet of shit to be eaten in the comedy business no matter where you are. What I think the United States comedy scene is sorely lacking is the panel shows that not only provide screentime to comedians, but do so while asking nothing of them than to be funny in the way that they naturally are. What I think is so centrally appealing and pays such dividends across the cornucopia of these sorts of shows is that they are, by nature, only the loosest of constraints. What Britain seems to have when it comes to their comedians that America could bear to develop is any sort of confidence in their ability to be funny. Whether it’s QI or Would I Lie To You or any number of so-and-so countdowns, it’s all nothing more than a springboard for the talent to, well, actually display their talent. In the U.S., it feels like the entertainment industry has no idea what to do with somebody who’s funny. Unless they’re already a cardboard cutout easily propped in the back of a mediocre sitcom and fed a catchphrase to parrot, they’re inscrutable as to their usage. Watching the U.S. try to capitalize on homegrown comedic talent is like peering into a kitchen that refuses to make anything but Chicken Parmesan, regardless of whether the groceries available to them include chicken or parmesan cheese.
an Amazon notification saying Shipped: “Wahl Clipper Self-Haircut”
It doesn’t matter how damning a rebuke of the subject the article ends up being, those are details beside the fact that they’ve provided the exact vector some social virus is looking for. I don’t care how careful your prose is, let’s, for the love of god, avoid the “I Let Myself Be Bitten By The Infected, Foam-Mouthed Monkey. Here’s What I Found Out” explainer piece. You might notice that I’ve been careful up to this point never to describe any of this attention-seeking behavior as “controversial.” As an adjective, I think “controversial” has fueled a hundred conversations that never needed to be had, while also legitimizing beliefs that aren’t anything more than antiquated and boring. “Controversial” labels its subject interesting, worthy of discussion. The muck it’s slapped on rarely deserves any thought at all. A million racist, sexist, and widely bigoted screeds have benefited from being labeled as controversial, which has only served to create a conversation around them that’s long been settled. A Nazi, whether neo or not, is not a “controversial figure.” It’s someone who’s clinging to an antiquated, bigoted belief that’s been thoroughly disproven by both science and experience. “Controversial,” whether it’s your intent or not, implies validation that some of the things being discussed are up for, and worthy of, debate. One which you’re promptly drawn into.
Again, I want to emphasize that advertising is built on negative emotional manipulation. It’s incredibly hard to sell something, especially something largely unnecessary, to a person feeling any level of inner peace. Products solve problems, so every shortcoming you can be convinced exists opens a new space they can convince you needs filling. Unfortunately, thanks to the personal dossier collected on you, happily provided by any number of data merchants, they’ve already got a great idea of what bits to poke. Your weak points are outlined on page one, under a picture taken of you through your bathroom window, staring unhappily at your blackheads. They’re already in possession of the kompromat they need for advertising so effective it approaches blackmail. Insecure about your weight? Simply buy this activity tracker. Fitness buff? You could surely increase your efficiency with an activity tracker. Do you have a family history of neurodegenerative disease that you’ve been worriedly researching? We applaud your proactive take on your health, and think our activity tracker could provide you with some much needed peace. Advertising’s grip is so deeply ensnared in our short-and-curlies that it’s even ready for the inevitable mental fatigue caused by its constant adjustment of your mood. Start looking up “monastery living” and “how to destroy every computer in the world” and the algorithm easily pivots to selling you dumbphones and analog clocks, because if you’re really going to disconnect, it wants a piece on the way out.
a can of thums up soda
I’m a big fan of telling Jeff Bezos to eat shit at any opportunity. Seeing someone with fame, whether achieved or seemingly on the horizon, say it? An immediate, lame thumbs-up from my stupid 35-year-old thumb. It still feels counter-cultural, but at the same time, it makes me wonder, who the fuck in the year 2026 is a fan of Jeff Bezos? They must exist, because they pop up endlessly online like limp-dicked Pikmin to defend Business Geniuses. I’d like to think they’re all astroturfed or burner accounts, but they seem to be tied to real socials, with real posts about their recent divorce. For pretty much the past decade, everyone has been having a pretty bad time, man. It’s been a period of struggle where we’ve needed to rely on other humans. Yet, in that stretch, an inexplicable number of people have decided their allegiances lie, ‘til death, under the banner of big business. Try as I might, as someone who’s generally pretty good at putting himself into someone else’s shoes, I simply cannot cram my tootsies into this mindset. I don’t know what builds a brain this way. Maybe it’s a genetically weak will. Perhaps these are the descendants of the serfs who sealed their tithes with a kiss. An unbroken line of suck-ups whose necks have evolutionarily developed a backwards curve to more easily blow kisses at the tower where the king resides. As if eunuchs somehow figured out how to further their bloodline despite their definitional lack of a downstairs.
Dukes had been hit by a flashbang, a $50 device used by the police to disorient suspects, often during drug raids. First designed nearly 40 years ago to help military special forces rescue hostages, flashbangs create a stunningly bright burst of light and an ear-splitting boom that temporarily blind and deafen anyone standing within a few feet of them. Last week, French special forces used flashbangs as part of a dramatic operation to free hostages held at a kosher supermarket in Paris. But when these modified hand grenades explode on the human body, they can cause severe injury or death. The flash powder burns hotter than lava. Dukes suffered second-degree burns across her body. When later asked to describe the pain she felt that morning on a scale of one to 10, with 10 being the absolute greatest, Dukes said 100.
shot of nature, says "Day 2 - 7:03 AM"
Sidebar, I'm fascinated by this excerpt from the rain-turkey Snopes article: The notion that a "dumb" animal would be fascinated by something as mundane as rain is another anthropomorphization. The concept of "fascination" requires a level of intelligence that even the smartest turkeys do not possess. Animals of this order react to a phenomenon such as rain in one of two very simple ways: If they don't mind it, they ignore it (as ducks do); if they don't like it, they seek shelter from it. Christ, man. I thought you were on the turkeys' side. "The concept of fascination requires a level of intelligence that even the smartest turkeys do not possess" is something I could imagine Gary Oldman screaming at a group of goons that failed an attempted underworld coup.
potatos. lookin good as hell