Comedian John Hastings takes us through his average, unemployed day.

Courtesy of John Hastings

EPISODE 15: Smartphones.

How did I spend today? Was I basking in the sun’s glory, sipping a frosty beer and speaking to my dear friends about leather bound books written by the oldest men with the longest and whitest beards? Nope. Instead, I sat on my porch with a laptop tied appropriately to my lap gazing at the world passing me by as I read, reflected, and mused about which smartphone made me a better and more interesting person.

For months now I have been compelled to ask people each and every time they break out a smartphone what they think of it. “Is it worth while?” “How expensive is the bill, really?” “No, really?” So after my search, and after too much time browsing blogs, I’ve concluded that I have no fucking clue what’s going on. I’m the kind of guy who likes to throw his phone across the room when angry and since the iPhone is made of glass, that narrows down my options. Slightly.

As much as I realize I don’t need to have access to Facebook from a Greyhound bus in Anchorage, Alaska – I still really, really want one of these i-Blackberry-Treos. They look better in a person’s hand, they facilitate looking at German porn sites, and they almost give out the illusion that I am currently employed.

I also want a pet dog. Just for twenty minutes or so, then I’d like to give the dog back to its owner and apologize for briefly stealing said dog. But cellphones are not like dogs. You instead get sucked and fucked into a contract where you need to shave off layers of your own balls into an envelope in order to pay for it. Unfortunately, these phones are the soma of our generation and regardless, I’d like to fit in. Give me a can with some string and a friend who can listen to my orders and I’m set. But because the world no longer works like that, I think purchasing an iPad to help make my decision is in order.

Until Next Time,

–John Hastings.

Comedian John Hastings takes us through his average, unemployed day.

Courtesy of John Hastings

EPISODE 14: Placenta.

As I sat in my jeans and a slightly stained but lets be honest stained t shirt, sipping a coffee and checking the various online celebrity rag-mags, I received an alarming message. Contained within this message was by and far the most disgusting sentence I have ever read in my entire life. The sentence was not some grotesque notion nor was it descriptive by any stretch of the imagination. It was simply a command; an order to stare headlong into the abyss of something so mature and so traumatic that it made my cell phone cascade tears through the screen and onto my wrist.

Naturally, I obeyed the message, and logged onto Facebook to gaze upon the image that my friend of a friend sent me. There upon the screen he sat – holding his newborn baby with a bucket of the baby’s placenta resting on his lap.

I get it. It’s part of the miracle of life. But placenta is also comparable to a BAG OF RAW MEAT SHOOTING OUT OF THE HAPPY PLACE WHERE THE CONDOMS ONCE WERE. WHY IN THE NAME OF GOD WOULD YOU KEEP WHAT LOOKS LIKE A DOG THAT’S BEEN DEFLATED AND TURNED INSIDE OUT WITH A CATERPILLAR ATTACHED TO IT? THROW IT AWAY, IT SMELLS LIKE FEET DIPPED IN 2-WEEK OLD CURRIE PASTE!”.

Safe to say my privacy settings have now been changed so that nobody can again force me to see evidence of birth that makes me want to never look a vagina in the eye again.

Until Next Time,

–John Hastings.

Comedian John Hastings takes us through his average, unemployed day.

Courtesy of John Hastings

EPISODE 13: Teenage Wasteland.

From time to time, I’ll house and dog sit to pay for my expensive, unemployed lifestyle. Yesterday’s house in question was in Rosedale, so I had the grand opportunity to bathe myself in the fine wine and pill addiction smells of the other world. My company, a young Labrador sharing the same cynical attitude towards life as I do, was ready for her stroll around the block – so off we went.

When she squatted to do her business, she got that same vacant eye while pooping that I get (although I also get it when walking the temporary “person of nondescript racial background or gender’s best friend” role for comedy supers in Kitchener). As we took to our constitutional, I noticed something: a large amount of broken glass and empty bottles with pockets of teenagers texting and making out over a pristine lawn. As a well-traveled man, I knew what was occurring: a house party in full swing.

We crossed the street to check it out, and as we did, I could hear the screaming riff between a teenage couple crescendo towards a nasty climax. The words spat forward from one cooler-guzzling girl over how her boy had gazed at the well-manicured rear end of another cooler-guzzling girl. Her tones were similar to that of a Chihuahua’s, while his remained guttural as if he were attempting to spit forward the “The Situation” as a solution to the situation. I merely laughed at their immaturity, walked back to my mansion, and finished my jack session in quiet. (Just kidding. I was very loud.)

Until next time,

–John Hastings.

Comedian John Hastings takes us through his average, unemployed day.

Courtesy of John Hastings

EPISODE 12: Auditioning for a Break.

Today I will have to sing for my supper, and by sing I mean put on a shirt and tie, stand in front of a camera, give my name, smile, and get down on my knees to pray that the gods of Human Resources will allow the phrase “hire that man” to escape their lips. Getting this gig would mean I’d earn an honest week’s pay for an honest day’s work – therefore quieting the screams of talent-doubt that erupt from my soul on a near hourly basis. Oh, and help pay rent. Today, I will audition for a job.

Fast forward a few hours and I’m standing in front of the casting producers, my mind consumed with the single thought of “Do not fuck this up Hastings for the fuck of all sacks, you untalented loser, cause if you do fuck up you are going to be working at a Starbucks crying into your latté again”. So naturally, it took every ounce of power within me to numb my racing mind and put on an all-too-fake smile (that’s acting I guess). I stared into the camera, told the story of a wedding, adjusted my tie, and walked back to my bike. As I looked at the time, I realized only eight seconds had passed. An entire day of preparation and anxiety all for eight seconds of judgment.

My belly is now upset, and I’m left exactly where I was when I woke up this morning. Unemployed. Excuse me while I go eat pretzels and open some veins in my wrist.

Until next time,

–John Hastings.