This is a photo of my father on one of his many 3rd birthdays.

That, or he stole my birthday cake… I can’t quite remember.

He passed away on October 21st, 2025.

As I grow older and older and better learn how difficult life can be, I appreciate more and more what a great job he did with his.

You will always be my favorite Superman…

And my favorite pterodactyl.

Thank you for putting up with all my shit.

I love you.

GUTFUDUM

GUTFUDUM COMEDY Presents: Duck Duck Duck duck, duck, ducked at Young Ethel’s Brooklyn NY on August 17, 2025.

Corporate may have cancelled my duck sketch, but I have a feeling I’ll be be able to slip some duck content past the censors in the future.

Thank you to everyone who came out, Young Ethel's for having us and all the wonderful artists who performed: Karla Mellett, Andrew B. Steiner, Dan Pugh, Lola Broward, Max & Nicky Weinbach, and even myself, Jason T. Kocher.

More shows to come.

Follow GUTFUDUM COMEDY on Instagram for the most up-to-date harassment.

And always more and More and MORE @ GUTFUDUM.com

You know the drill.

Sell all your belongings and move to South Slope in Brooklyn so you can see my comedy show.

It’ll be worth it. Tickets are FREE on Eventbrite. So you should break even.

GUTFUDUM COMEDY Presents: DUCK DUCK DUCK will take place August 17th, 2025 from 6:30pm to 7:45pm at Young Ethel’s [Bar & Stage] in South Slope, Brooklyn, NY.

A bespoke, one-size-fits-all, vegan comedy show with all-leather cow interior...just like Mom used to make.

Thoughtful. Varied. Indulgent.

May or may not contain any actual "duck content".

FEATURING

Max and Nicky

Lola Broward

Andrew B. Steiner

Karla Mellett

with MUSICAL GUEST

Dan Pugh

and HOSTED BY

Jason T. Kocher

*lineup subject to change

And there was a time when it was called “Buzzy Starnuts”.

And then there was a time when it was called “Weird & Gilly”.

And then there was another time when this bit was once again called “Buzzy Starnuts”.

Oh, honey…

On the way to the subway station to go to my first protest march I had to walk through a parade.

I deserve an award.

I am not social. Nature and Nurture are equally to blame. It is simply a fact.

Personal space is the most important thing to me. But I am also a masochist. That’s why I live in New York City. And that’s also at least part of the reason that I finally went to my first protest, the NO KINGS demonstration and march in Bryant Park and along 5th Avenue on July 14, 2025.

I do not believe in bumper stickers.

I want to argue with bumper stickers.

It is important to me that bumper stickers know that they are wrong.

But…

NO KINGS?

Welp.

Ya got me.

Hard to argue with that one. It really is a clever way to frame the current moment around probably the greatest thing about America: NO KINGS.

So if you really want to make America great again, Donald, you really have to work on yourself first.

Is he really a King? Is he really a fascist? Not quite. But he is an authoritarian in a china shop and we find ourselves quickly, all too quickly slipping down those slopes.

When the going gets weird, memes are your North Star.

SO FUCKED UP EVEN INTROVERTS ARE HERE

When I got to the protest someone offered me a a bottle of water from their backpack.

“Nice try!” I thought, “Not today, saboteur!”

But this wasn’t someone sent to take me out of the fight. It was just another first time protester, who in preparation had almost certainly read somewhere that you should bring more water than you think you need and give it to other people who need it and all of this nervous energy about this protest tip made them try to unload 10 bottles in the first 5 minutes to anyone and everyone on a cool, drizzling day as we waited in line for the protest.

I love that.

If only more people were so concerned…

And they were.

There seemed to be a lot of first timers which made me feel more comfortable. And it is a testament to the degree of concern, a concern that isn’t just the normal worry about the other guys being in charge but instead a particular and particularly untethered other guy being in charge, doing the worst thing, in the worst way, at the worst possible time… all the fucking time.

The organizers made a point of the protest being a peaceful, permitted stroll of numbers, but it was still powerful in its size and the unified message of what I assume were disparate minds, strange bedfellows where the times made the strangeness an afterthought.

Standing At 42nd St. and 5th Avenue it was impossible to hear the person on the microphone ramping up the crowd, but the wave of cheers from Bryant park eventually rolled into us and most people hollered not knowing what they were cheering.

Chances are it was something in line with the accepted message, but you never know. We could have been applauding someone saying:

“ACTUALLY DONALD TRUMP JUST GAVE US A LOT OF MONEY! TURNS OUT FASCISM IS PRETTY GREAT! RULE OF LAW AND DUE PROCESS ARE GAY! GET FUCKED! DEADLY NEUROTOXIN WILL BE RELEASED IN 3… 2…”

“YEAH!!!!!! WOOOOO!!!!!!”

I like to imagine… that it was actually a land acknowledgement apologizing for disrupting the tourists, the rightful owners of Midtown Manhattan.

THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

Democracy also looks like an umbrella spoke in the eye.

Do not take an umbrella to a protest.

This may not be the most important protest survival tip…

…but maybe?

Just before an umbrella spoke caught her eye, I caught the eye of a woman engaged in passive aggressive combat with an untrained, unlicensed umbrella user. She finally said something, which caused the person to move the umbrella, simultaneously dumping water on her head and going on the offensive against me. In bullet time, I rolled underneath the attack and before moving on to a Deumbreallaized Zone I joked to the woman, “Probably the most dangerous thing at the protest, eh?” to which she responded, “This is why I tell people not to bring them!”

Solidarity.

BORN TO DILLY DALLY - FORCED TO FIGHT FASCISTS

As we dillydallied down 5th Avenue, I couldn’t help but imagine Tom Wolfe using a selfie stick.

I couldn’t help imagining a lot of things.

It was very peaceful.

And I came alone so I didn’t have to worry about the welfare or social entertainment of friends.

So… I didn’t worry.

And I didn’t chant. I wanted to be counted amongst those protesting, but chanting never makes it out of me.

But no one seemed to mind.

We were all doing what we we could.

And what I could do was look around and find charm in the humanity of the cause.

Someone was chanting, “NO FASCISTS! NO PEACE! NO FASCISTS! NO PEACE!” before realizing that they had misheard and that they were supposed to be chanting, “NO FASCISTS! NO KINGS!” - “Peace” still in good standing it seems.

Two people in front of me were holding up cardboard protest signs, but to me they were just advertisements for COSTCO - not a bad ally for the day actually. There's a part of me that still believes the fronts of those signs were also just the COSTCO logo.

Everyone at some point or another was entertained by a scantily clad, horned dancer. But they did not seem to notice the dancer literally teleporting all over the protest, *BAMFING* all along 5th Avenue.

And then I thought to ask, “Where are we all going to eat afterwards? And who’s paying?”

Eataly would have been a good choice. At the end of the march, Madison Square Park an art gallery of protest signs, across the street the tourist trap Italian marketplace would have been ironically appropriate – it’s still pretty good food.

And just outside, on the median, no irony was wasted as disassociated demonstrators protested in support of Luigi Mangione. There’s an Eataly spokesperson opportunity for him somewhere down the road, surely.

I went inside and tried to find a cheesemonger I know, but it must have been his day off.

ABUSE OF POWER COMES AS NO SURPRISE

The NO KINGS protests were co-organized by over 200 progressive groups projecting the unifying message of “FUCK DONALD TRUMP” which really has understandably united progressives with people of different political persuasions. It is importantly a broad focus, not booby-trapping themselves in the foot with other progressive causes.

This branding weaves the visceral worry of Donald Trump into something in the American fabric that most Americans still feel in some ethereal way. But that concern will almost certainly be lost when someone they like is set to succeed.

To some degree it will have to be lost. The next president elected in opposition to the current unabashed authoritarian bent will have to fix this administration’s abuses of power by — you guessed it — abusing power.

It will likely be some time before we see another such perfect storm of abuse as Donald Trump, but the throne of unchecked executive power will still be there, all too tempting to anyone lacking great responsibility.

I don’t know how we get that genie back in the bottle.

Do we just get someone to sign an executive order?

Democracy is the popular panacea, but a democracy is only as good as its restraints. Without them, democracy is often just a word for what you and your friends want. And depending on what you and your friends want and what you’re willing to do to get it, that democracy can end up looking a lot like a Mad King to someone else.

So I agree.

Fuck Donald Trump.

But for the long now… we should keep the spirit of NO KINGS in mind and in practice.

Archie “Archibald” Fish Benjamin - named after actor Cary Grant - was a wonderfully complex betta fish that my partner and I looked after.

He could be a real fucking asshole… flashing and flaring and booping snails all day long to teach them their place in his world. The snails did not care at all, of course, but Archie cared and that's all that mattered.

He was also a special companion. Archie helped teach me to play “Urban Spaceman” by Bonzo Dog Band on guitar and routinely kicked my ass in Scrabble.

I am glad that Archie made it to the stage. Not a lot of betta fish can say that, you know. When I showed him the video, he was understandably disappointed in the production quality but overall supportive of me trying new things.

I will miss our nights sipping Laphroaig by candlelight with something by Grieg or Mendelssohn playing in the background as I read George F. Will opinion columns to him. Afterwards, I would often find Archie’s polite, but critical comments at the bottom of the post. He had already read the article, of course, but didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to ruin our special time together.

I also loved that he was a snob. A real fish snob, you know? If you didn't deliver him a pellet directly in front of his mouth, he was not about to make accommodations for you. He knew his worth and he made sure that you knew it, too. You have to respect that.

Recently… he became lethargic, eating less and had developed a swollen stomach.

My partner is the best fish mom in the world. She properly monitored the water parameters, made regular water changes and provided a beautiful seasonally changing landscape for him to luxuriate in.

And we thoughtfully and carefully tried several treatments, but in the end, her best efforts and my anxious concern could not save him.

Because we are not fucking fish doctors and neither is Reddit.

And who knows, maybe he just bit off more snail than he could chew.

If you have a terrible amount of empathy, a fish is a terrible pet. You will connect with them, quite possibly conflating your own condition with theirs, but you can't really share your feelings... touch them to let them know you care… or hold them to console them as they struggle to hang on… breathing heavily. You just have to sit… and look through your own reflection in the glass… and whisper sentiments they can't feel no matter how desperately you want them to.

I loved that little guy.

I cried.

And it all feels like a villain origin story.

Because I make mountains out of molehills.

And when I lose a molehill, it makes me want to take a mountain in return.

But Archie wouldn't want that.

Really… who knows what Archie wanted. I just hope he got enough of whatever it was he wanted while he was here.

So I'll just flip off the snails, pour out a glass of Laphroaig and try to think outside my own tank more often.

CORRECTION: A previous version of this post incorrectly stated May 10th as the date of the show in the Subheading and Voiceover. The correct date is May 11th. Sincere apologies.

Tell ALL your friends in Park Slope.

I am producing my first comedy show.

FREE INTRODUCTORY OFFER! Act Now! Tickets will never be this cheap again!

GUTFUDUM Presents: COMEDY SOLUTIONS - “Hello World” will take place May 11th, 2025 from 10pm to 11:30pm at Young Ethel’s [Bar & Stage] in Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York City.

A bespoke, one-size-fits-all, vegan comedy show with all-leather cow interior...just like Mom used to make. (Mother’s Day is a coincidence and only slightly leaned into.)

FEATURING

Geneva Rust-Orta

Tom Achilles

Lola Broward

Brian Morris

Ricky Wood

*lineup subject to change

What began as a way to empty my head once a month on stage, now has too many great performers on it and has instead morphed into the best comedy show of the year.

But I WILL be experimenting with hosting duties, which means I WILL take a few indulgences here and there…and there.

I have just really terribly unrealistic ambitions for this show, so it would be great to see you there…or a surrogate, voluntary or paid, that you send in your stead.

As long as this doesn’t kill me, I’m hoping to continue doing a monthly live show. Perhaps adding music and poetry and puppets and…

Maybe.

Someday.

Hacky Sack.

I was in France.

In a dream.

In a basement.

I couldn’t remember how to ask for an iced coffee in French.

Paid in American.

They gave me something in a cup and I threw it out.

Seated on a couch.

The person at the door put my coat in a closet.

Another closet opened and some Littles pretending to be children began playing sugar plum fairy pop perfect glam rock.

Barry Bonds’ son sat down next to me. I know this because Barry Bonds then sat on the floor in front of me as there was no more space on the couch. That and they were wearing jerseys that had text printed on them that said “Barry Bonds’ Son” and “Barry Bonds”, respectively.

Barry Bonds started trying to pull some of that celebrity shit, demanding my seat. His bodyguard, Allen Iverson, was making an even bigger fuss about it.

But I charmingly held my ground.

Barry Bonds smiled and we became friends.

My dad was lost in the hallway, too angry about being in a dream about the French to find his way in.

He would not have charmingly stood his ground, though ground would have been stood.

I am the diplomat of the family.

To France.

To Barry Bonds.

To dream…

Transcript of the August 2nd, 2024 Edition of “GUTFUDUM News: Celebrity Spotlight with Frilly Shibe”.

ANNOUNCER:

“GUTFUDUM News: Celebrity Spotlight”, with the girl who keeps her garters to the grapevine, Frilly Shibe.

FRILLY SHIBE:

Hello Stargazers.

You won’t believe who’s gone social! It’s none other than that legend of Athletic Movement, Slammy Johnson. We caught up with Slammy recently - no easy task - and asked him what made him finally join social media.

SLAMMY JOHNSON:

It's true you know, social media had always been the furthest thing from my mind. But then I discovered and fully understood THE SELFIE. ME looking at ME so that you can look at ME? Well… count ME in.

FRILLY SHIBE:

And he hasn’t lost a step either, swinging around a 31.3lb modified Arriflex 35 II C Techniscope Camera single-handedly. With…one hand. That’s no small feat.

GUTFUDUM News is now proud to present the world premiere of: “GRADUATION” - a Slammy Johnson Selfie.

Welcome aboard, Slammy. The world…is in a twitter.

Special thanks to Rachel Benjamin for her rendition of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s Solfeggietto and her performance as Frilly Shibe, both of which can be enjoyed in the voiceover audio for this post.

A double rainbow with a dark calling between, through a grey sky underlined by a nail clipping of earth. In the middle, a white building like some kind of ship. The rainbow finds a beginning and an end with another larger building on the right side, 4 smokestacks bending in - and to be - kind.

Another kind of sailing on, the very top of a building with 4 smokestacks, the fading memory of a rainbow exhausted from the fourth into the blue-grey sky, holding on the best it can and giving the rest to the clouds above.

But that's just two ways of looking at it.

I didn't have anything to give away, but I wanted to give something just the same.

If you’re curious…all text is alt text.

This video is a document of my worst tourist transgression during my visit to Barcelona. The worst, that is, that I am at this time willing to post online. Stay tuned.

Gràcia is a lovely neighborhood of Barcelona that I wish I had spent more time in. Living in New York City, the shops and restaurants of Gràcia make me want to equate it to certain neighborhoods in the Village, but Gràcia really has a unique feeling all its own: a sophisticated, family-friendly bohemia that is calming and subtly surprising with a curiosity that you feel inspired to match.

And much of it is reasonably quiet, most of the time.

However, our last stop before we left was El Jardí del Silenci, a wonderful community garden that on that day was also a wonderful source of irony. Across the street from this garden of silence was a very loud musical concert for children that happened to be blaring a Catalan version of the “Hokey Pokey”, “El Hoogie Boogie”. And I couldn't help but put my whole self in everyone’s way and document it all about.

Ei, Hoogie Boogie. D'això es tracta.

This was just supposed to be a joke.

And then it actually happened.

We went to the beach one day and once we were at the beach, I thought, “Did I leave the bidet running?” And I considered going back to check, potentially ruining the whole day. But thankfully, my partner gave me a very stern look and with her scary, serious voice said, “No.”

I didn’t care about the stove, though. We were renting an apartment with an electric stove and there was a little bit of that, “Well…it’s not really my place…” mentality that causes most people to leave dirty clothes and food everywhere, but which just let me stop worrying…so much…about everything blowing up…all the time…for a week.

BUT THE BIDET!

The bidet was a serious concern. Catalonia was in the middle of a drought and water needed to be conserved, which explicitly meant not leaving bidets running for several hours.

In certain social situations, I kind of like the Ugly American role. I’m a pretty nice Ugly American, actually. But I did not want to be the Ugly American responsible for people dying of dehydration and famine just because I left a bidet running for a period of time grossly in excess of any realistic hygiene benefits.

So I started checking…more…and more…

Which is exactly how “checking” works.

You can’t check enough.

We all know about Schrodinger’s cat. But Schrodinger probably had a stove, too. And maybe even a bidet. And that’s how it works for me. I’ll check the stove. See that it is off. But as soon as I stop observing it, all bets are off. ANYTHING could have happened! It could be in ANY state! Even Nebraska.

But I wasn’t in Nebraska. I was in Barcelona. On vacation. So I took that time…to do some recursive research, checking on checking. Which is in fact its own brand of OCD, compulsively checking anything that could harm anyone or anything that you value.

The only cure, it seems, is to learn NOT to value anyone or anything, becoming a soulless monster.

I am remorseless to say that I am making progress, but it’s not perfect.

And this video is a good example of that perfectionism flavor of OCD. This was meant to be the start of me more casually creating short videos and not fretting over every pixel before I post them.

When I record in the very confined confines of my apartment, there are some restraints I don’t have control over, but I can pretend I do…for a very long time. And that’s a problem.

When you’re out in the open though, there are way too many variables, so you really have to try to learn how to live with them…after several, several takes, that is.

Now, some of those variables produce thrilling serendipity. In this video, I love the rays of sun that flicker in and out as I walk, and the sound of the horn blowing just as my OCD sets in, thinking about the bidet.

But then there’s the pair of people prominently walking closely behind me, who’s privacy has been violated. I better blur their faces. And while we’re doing that, why not add a color gradient over the scene. Is it too late to fix my teeth, fly back to Barcelona, get everyone back in place and reshoot? And what about that other joke I have about checking the stove? Should I record that and add it before I post?

You do have to have some standards, but just like a bidet, nothing’s perfect. At some point you just have to say, “Good enough…” pull up your pants and get on with your day.1

After checking that you turned the bidet off, that is.

It’s true, you know.

Every election day.

For a split-second when I see that VOTE AQUÍ sign, I think “Man…who’s this guy?”

I think that if you were to change your last name to Aquí and run for office, you’d get elected on name recognition alone.

You know those rules that make it illegal to electioneer within like a hundred yards of the polling place. No campaigning? No signs?

No problem for Candidate Aquí.

VOTE AQUÍ

Eventually, everyone running for office would have to change their last name to Aquí just to stand a chance.

Peak Sneetch!

That’s what I would do. I would change my name to Peak Sneetch and run for office. I’d be the only one who would stand out amongst a sea of Aquís and I would certainly get elected.

Then, after “The Scandal”, I’ll take a few years off before releasing my transgressive electroclash masterpiece, The Teaches of Sneetches.

What I’m saying is…I’ll be fine.

Don’t worry about me.

END-OF-POST REVIEW

VOTE AQUÍ - CORE CONCEPTS

• Aquí - Translated from Spanish to English, “aquí” means “here”. Most polling places in the United States of America have signs posted that say VOTE HERE in English as well as signs with the Spanish equivalent VOTE AQUÍ. However, as the first word in the Spanish translation is the same in English, you could imagine someone who doesn’t know any Spanish reading the Spanish language sign IN English, as though the sign means to encourage them to vote for a candidate with the last name Aquí.
  
  Anyway…
  

• Peak Sneetch - The Sneetches is inarguably the greatest achievement of Dr. Seuss. There are weird creatures called Sneetches. Some got stars on thars. Others, not so much. Then some guy shows up and sells them access to a machine that puts stars on thars and then another machine that takes stars off thars. That guy makes a lot of money and is very happy. So candidates changing their last names to Aquí just to be special like everyone else could be thought of as “Peak Sneetch”.
  

• Electroclash - Uh… I don’t know either…
  

• The Teaches of Sneetches - This is a Sneetchified reference to The Teaches of Peaches, a transgressive electroclash masterpiece by the artist Peaches.

GOOD LUCK ON THE TEST EVERYBODY!

VOTE THE PAIN AWAY!

The terrible situation we find ourselves in today can be traced back to 1982.

In April of that year, Laurie Anderson released the album Big Science, the first track of which was “From the Air”, a piece that has Laurie speaking as an all-to-calm, “Simon Says” captain of a multi-metaphorical, crashing airplane.

In June of that same year, principal photography began on the film Airplane II: The Sequel which was ultimately released on the 10th of December, 1982…shockingly…tragically…without a cameo by Laurie Anderson.

DISASTER!

One must assume that had Jim Abrahams and the Zucker Brothers been involved in the sequel, this oversight would have been caught and the situation in which we find ourselves today averted.

Police Squad! was pretty good, but not worth the global downward spiral resulting from the Laurie-Anderson-less sequel to Airplane!

Is it too late for Airplane III?

The answer, obviously, is a resounding, “NO!”

Did you not notice that I formatted Airplane III in italics? That means its for fucking real, OK?

We can still fix this.

Production begins NOW.

Zero Hour!

This is the time.

And this is the record of the time.

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Town Hall in New York City will always be special to me because of the time I saw Norm MacDonald perform there and how I remember it.

I think we were late? And I feel like people were smoking in their seats? But even if that isn’t true, we were in a movie watching another movie. The silence between his words hung just shy of, or maybe beyond, trolling, but the pause was really out of respect for the moment, the pace, the timing…and our time together. The jokes hitting in these moments not with nervous laughter, but with reverence for the resonance of the second, third and further thoughts that it allowed. And for that special night, Town Hall will always mean so much to me.

And now it means even more as I was lucky enough to be in attendance as The Magnetic Fields performed their album 69 Love Songs over the course of two nights at Town Hall, another collection of moments turned into a movie that I’ll never quite remember correctly, but will always remember fondly and with wonder.

That said, Town Hall’s got issues. It’s old as hell, there’s not enough bathrooms and intermission is HELL. Here’s what you’re gonna wanna do. Are you going to get two drinks anyway? Order a double. It’s way too expensive. But you’re going to get it anyway and you’re not going to have time to get a refill at intermission because…there’s not enough bathrooms. There are two. A men’s room and A women’s room. Hold tight. You CAN get through it. It will look like you’ll never get back to your seats in time, but you will. As long as you don’t ALSO have to wait for the bar.

The Magnetic Fields are one of the best bands to listen to on a rainy night. And if you listen to them at any other time, all the best things about a rainy night will come back to you.

And 69 Love Songs may be their best example of that. As the album title says, 69 love songs: real, imagined, romantic, impressionistic, indulgent, ironic, humorous and… Well, you know the rest of the good adjectives, don’t you?

I came to the Magnetic Fields very late and I’m sorry to say that I haven’t come up with a good enough story of how I came to them, but they have been one of my favorite pillows to lay my head on whenever I want to imagine at least 69 affairs I have not and will never have.

And hearing 69 Love Songs performed live while sitting next to my love - to whom I am working on attributing a narrative of introducing me to the band in the first place - was truly a gift.

If you have not heard the Magnetic Fields before, don’t be afraid to hear them for the first time live. Both you and I will be jealous of that moment, whenever we remember it…however we remember it.

Maybe it was during our affair.

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I hope you enjoy the following gallery of photos I took during some of my favorite performances from the two nights.