Calling Jack Bauer...Calling Jack Bauer...

My nine-year-old daughter, G, walked into my bedroom as I was watching "24." I turned it off, of course, and she asked me a few questions.

G: Do people like the President?
I: You mean President Logan or the real President?
G: Our real President of the United States.
I: Well, some people like him very much. Other people don't like him because they don't think he's very smart, and they think he's made a lot of mistakes with the war.
G: Who are we fighting?
I: Terror. We're fighting terror.

I couldn't really think of how else to explain it to her. We aren't fighting Iraq, because the country as a whole isn't our target, right? And we aren't fighting Muslims, of course. We aren't fighting just one rebel group either. So if we are in fact fighting a war on terrorism itself, I guess that means we should be fighting here, as well. And also in Darfur, in Uganda, in Zimbabwe, in Equitorial Guinea, in Burma, in Uzbekistan, in Turkmenistan, in Saudi Arabia and in North Korea. Probably a bunch more places, too. But we aren't. Maybe between George Clooney, "ER," Oprah Winfrey and Angelina Jolie they can get someone to pay attention to those places. Darfur is a start. But I couldn't explain all of that to G. I had to finish watching "24."

- Inda

Worth Every Second...

CIF was kick-ass!!!!

We love you, Jonathan Pitts! More on that later. I'm exhausted. We went to sleep at 4am. But it was worth it.

- Inda

CIF Tomorrow...

Well, tomorrow is the big night! Can't wait. We tech today, HOPEFULLY, then we will be good to go. Inda and I had a good rehearsal yesterday. Made some tweaks and changes. But enough about kevINda let's talk about...Kevin!

"I shot my first commercial, I shot my first commercial, I shot my first..."

Well, I hope to see each and every single one of you at the show. And if you can't, make it, lie and say you did, for our egos are very fragile.

Peace out my n----s.

- Kevin

Headaches!!!

I have had a recurring/ongoing migraine since last Thursday. All day Thursday. All day Friday. It went away Saturday. Stayed away Sunday. It came back Monday. And I woke up with it again today. Our tech rehearsal for our CIF show on Friday is up in the air. My roof has a leak. It's supposed to rain all day today. I haven't had an audition in a month. Or a residual check. And my head freakin' hurts!!!

I know, I know...this is one of those "look on the bright side" moments. This is one of those moments I should open up my Joel Osteen book and dwell on the goodness of the Lord and have faith that it's all about to turn around for the good. I get all of that. I do. But my head hurts.

Kevin's shooting a commercial today. He's been auditioning like crazy. He's joining the union. He's moving to L.A. soon. And I'll be right here. With a headache and two kids. Oh, and my husband. Make that three kids. Ooh, look at me being all bitter and jealous. I'm happy for Kevin. Really. I am. I just want some of my youth back. Right now. And some opportunities. And some money. And some Imitrex.

Enough about us. Let's get back to Bush...

- Inda

Bush Ain't No Bitch!

I just spent 3 dollars and 1 cent on gas...per gallon. God, I pray we win this war on terrorism because I am going to have to cut off my Tivo, cable, and change my cell phone plan and other necessities just to afford the gas. I think we're winning the war on terrorism though 'cause I haven't heard of any soldiers dying in the last...hmmm...whatever, we're so winning. And that's how we should keep score -- by deaths. Plus, we're the U.S. Fuckin' with us is like messing with the school bully. Nobody messes with the school bully...unless...you know...you're transfering to another school the next day, or moving out of the state. We are bad asses. We can kick anyone's ass. Bring it terrorists, BRING IT!!

I had mentioned this in my first blog, but I will say it again, if...no, WHEN we kick the terrorists asses, the war on racism will begin. Oh yes, it will begin. So racists, prepare yourselves, 'cause every single one of you is going DOWN!!...Just as soon as we win this little war. Which will clearly be soon.

Bush can't put a timetable on it 'cause then the terrorists will see it comin'. Bush is about surprise. That first election for example, oh my. Bush lost...no, SURPRISE!!! He won!!! Or Katrina. He was like, "Don't worry. Help is on the way." Day 1 -- nope. Day 2 -- nope. Day 3 -- nope. Day 4 -- nope. Day 5 -- SURPRISE!! See, ya'll thought help wasn't coming. Man, that Bush is all about suspense! So he's gonna surprise them by NOT giving a timetable 'cause Bush ain't no punk. Unlike Ford who ended the war in Vietnam. Glad they don't make Republicans like that anymore! "Oh let's quit. Let's get our soldiers out of there..." What a bitch.

No, sir. We gon' stay until the job is done. Bush ain't no Bitch! War is always the answer, ALWAYS. Read the Bible. There were plenty of wars in there. And if you're not Christian, read a history book. There are even more wars in there, any World history book. Well, I gotta go watch the news and see what the score is, GO U.S.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Kevin

Child Rearing

I just came from my three-year-old nephew's birthday party. He isn't potty trained, yet he chugs Coca-Cola like a grown-up. He doesn't talk either. Not really. Another kid at the party (we'll just describe him the way my sister-in-law did: "That fat, greedy bitch's kid") picked his nose and then ate his booger. And yet another kid came up to the birthday cake, stuck her finger deep into it, and then licked the cake and icing off of her filthy, little digit. Not the cake on her plate or someone else's slice of cake. The whole birthday cake. Like it was nothing.

Here are Inda's Child-Rearing Rules:

1. No undiluted carbonated drinks for kids. They don't need the bubbles nor the sugar.

2. No caffeinated drinks for children -- EVER. It's bad for them.

3. No booger picking. Use a freakin' tissue. You aren't saving the environment my cutting back on Kleenex.

4. Definitely noooooo booger eating. That's just fucking nasty.

5. Use a utensil with your own food servings on your own plate. There's no such thing as "common cake."

6. If you are "the fat, greedy bitch," come to terms with it. Don't bring nine kids to someone else's party and begin to serve them pizza paid for by people you don't even know.

Don't invite Inda to little kids' parties. I hate kids. Except my own.

- Inda

Special Texans

8 days until CIF!!!! WOOHOO!!! I still have to write a scene (related to the White house), but stuff is happening everyday in that White House. If I could be a fly on those walls...I would probably...know just as much as we know now. I bet alot goes on in there, like sleeping and eating and corruption, and eating and lying and some sex, plotting, and I bet some TV watching...no, a lot of TV watching, there are probably like poker parties...haha POKE HER. Oh, how I miss Clinton. I bet they don't do anything related to work in the White House. I think it's a front, like the only time they work is when camera crews are coming, "Oh Shit CNN! Back to Work. Phew, they're gone back to poker." So it's late (1AM) and I am tired, but I will share this: I was doing some research for a sketch I am writing and did you know that, well here read the following:

The Republican Party was born in the early 1850's by anti-slavery activists and individuals who believed that government should grant western lands to settlers free of charge. The first informal meeting of the party took place in Ripon, Wisconsin.

Republicans ANTI-SLAVERY ACTIVISTS! Yeah crazy, eh? Come on, I'm not the only one that didn't know that? Anyway, that's funny because Republicans today are ALOT different. One might even say they've regressed. I lived in Texas for a lot of my life...was not born there -- lets make that clear. In school they didn't teach that stuff. Or maybe they were teaching that, but I was too busy wondering why the White kids were staring at me everytime they mentioned slaves or Black people in our history books. Yeah, don't get me started on Texas. Too late.

My high school mascot was the Confederate flag, yeah, I have pictures. And, yeah, they sang Dixie, "Wish I were in the land of cotton..." Yeah F*#$ing Dixie. At the time I was not offended because I was still learning about this country and the racism in it, but yeah, Dixie and Rebel Flag. It was like 1894, but it was really 1994. Crazy! And my senior year they decided not to fly the flag anymore...AFTER my senior year. So yeah, it's on my diploma. Yeah, on my F*#$king diploma. Ah Texas. Good old Texas. What's funny is that "some" Texans, the special ones, are gonna read this and be like:

SPECIAL TEXAN: Well fuck you get out of my state...

Which I did. Special Texans don't ask why one "might" be offended or why one "might" feel a certain way about a flag that represents a time when people with my complexion were treated a little worse than a dog.

SPECIAL TEXAN: It ain't racist. It's tradition!

Yeah and so was slavery. Wow. Where did all that come from? Better to let it all out with a keyboard than with a gun.

- Kevin

Bout to Blow Up!

I can't freakin' wait to get on stage at CIF. If only they'd update our picture on their website...hint, hint.

We have some really funny material. I'm getting excited just thinking about it. Bush and Condi hijinks, actor woes, uncertain Black folks, restaurant server zaniness (oops, I already said "actor woes"), and maybe even a little Bay Furniture -- always a crowd pleaser. If you've never seen/heard our Bay piece, check out our website where you'll soon be able to listen to it. Funny stuff.

- Inda

Chicagoans are Easy...

So, went to DC. It went pretty well. A few SNAFOOS, but nothing bad enough to write about. Bush jokes are NOT that funny in DC...or Chicagoans are easy. Making fun of Tara Reid and American films...NOT funny in DC...or Chicagoans are easy. FlatTop Grill jokes...NOT funny in DC...or Chicagoans are easy. DC girls don't like Black men...or Chicago girls are...tee hee. They like Black men.

No, it was fun. We were in and out and we thank the DC Comedy Fest very much for having us!!! Inda and I got free plane tickets because they over-booked a flight and we offered to change so we spent the day in the DC airport. That was neat. For those of you that like people watching, that's the place to be. For you people that like to watch little kids, that is also the place to be. But for those of you that like to "touch" little kids, prison is the place to be. While in the airport we thought of some sketches and started a new running order for CIF! Yeah, so for those of you undedicated fans who could NOT fly out to DC to support us, well, you are forgiven and you have another opportunity FRIDAY APRIL 28th 10:30 PM.

- Kevin

Don't Tell Kevin

Don't tell Kevin, but lately I haven't been able to get a lot of work done because instead of writing new material for kevINda or learning lines for our next show, I find myself lying in bed and watching Maury. Why is it that when people are nerds as teenagers and they get picked on by some bully and then they grow up and invite the bully onto Maury to be confronted...why is it (long, awkwardly constructed question, I know) that the former nerd is now, ALWAYS a silicone-injected, weave-wearing, tacky, tasteless stripper or whore (redundant, I know that too)? Or, if it was a dude that was the high school geek, he's grown up to be either a bulky, steroidal man-stripper or a silcone-injected, weave-wearing transexual/cross-dresser/or otherwise transgendered individual?

Now, I want implants as much as the next flat-chested former nerd, but not because some ass in high school made fun of me. I just don't like my ta-tas. I want 'em bigger. They'll be more fun. And I promise you I won't go onto a nationally syndicated talk show and blame Skip Parker or Booger Jenkins (names have been changed to protect the innocent) for making me into the person I am now.

Man, what did these bullies do to these poor, confused kids that they turned to stripping, hoeing and transing as adults? How could a bully calling someone four-eyes or stealing their milk money produce such drastic results? But maybe my idea of bullying isn't the same as what these mixed-up little freaks faced during their adolescent years. During what I like to call My Hour of Clarity (also known as My Hour of Maury), I've concluded that it couldn't have been just the bullying that did it. What else was going on at home? Where were the parents? Wouldn't it be a more interesting and realistic dose of reality television to have the geeks confront the neglectful parent or the molesting uncle on Maury? The show, "I Was Your Special Sex Abuse Secret, But Look At Me Now!" would be full of more truth and sadness than an hour's worth of Maury could hold. And in that hour, I still wouldn't have gotten a script memorized or a new sketch written. Or maybe....

- Inda

Who Would You Rather...?

So, I work at a restaurant. "An actor working at a restaurant get out of... " Shut up. Anyway, we usually play this game -- the movie game -- but I was sick of dominating so I started a new game. . . well, it's old, but to some of the participants it was brand new. Yes, folks we played "Who Would You Rather?" Juvenile? Maybe, but it passes the time. How it works is you give a person two choices, example: Halle Berry or Jennifer Lopez? Who would you rather _________? I changed it and said "Who would you rather date?" 'cause sex is too easy. In and out, and your done. Next two choices. . . Ha ha! In and out. So I said, "Who would yourather date. And we will assume they are single and available." That's how it's played.

Oh sorry, I chose Halle Berry, though neither women are in any position to be dating anyone 'cause, well, they need to get their constitution together. Give your self at least 90 days before you move on . . . why 90 days? I don't know ask Inda . . . (Seriously, I really don't know either of them so I really can't comment on their constitution.) So Halle is my choice 'cause I think she would be fun and I like her "smile" . . . both of them. She would let me do anything I wanted, I feel. Not tie me down or force me to commit, unlike Ms. Lopez. She would try to control me. I saw Out of Sight. I think that was her best film. And I love women who kick ass. Yes, strong women . . . NOT controlling . . . there is a difference. Like Halle in Catwoman...strong, NOT controlling. Clearly not controlling 'cause she had NO control over that script . . . or did she? Yeah Halle. I feel like we would have good conversation, like the scene in Monsters Ball right before she did it with Billy Bob Thorton, yeah she was laughing and having a good ole time, although she did do it with Billy Bob . . .hmm. Maybe I'm back to Jennifer Lopez, ah, but she was with Daredevil and let's face, it that movie was a little better than Catwoman, but then that's like saying the shit I did yesterday smells a little better than the shit I did this morning... yeah it's still shit. So I'm back to Halle, though she did do drugs...Jungle Fever? Yeah, she was a crack addict and then there was the whole giving up her baby and then wanting it back, yep in Losing Isaiah. Hmm. I don't know anymore. They both have their flaws. We would only be dating, though. It's not like I have to commit. But I know that they'll get too attached because, well, I'm special. Unlike any man they have ever dated for sure. Let's see Kevin Berry? or Kevin Lopez? Sorry, jumping ahead. We have A crack addict, Indian (sorry -- Native American) giving, ass kicking, sloppy seconds to Billy Bob, supermodel, or a controlling, ass kicking, daredevil dating, dancer. Hmmm. It has to be Halle 'cause crack wins everytime. Oh, and I like her "smile."

21!!!

I just spent a lovely, leisurely time shopping in my local Jewel for tonight's dinner, browsing some magazines, carefully selecting toilet bowl cleaners and other household cleaning supplies. It was a pleasant trip, until it was time to check out. I purposely hand-picked this particular check-out lane over the one next to it, because I saw that the shopper waiting in the back of the line had a lot of wine bottles in his cart and I noticed that the cashier was a young guy who would undoubtedly shout out "Twenty-one," and then wait for an of-age cashier to ring up the alcohol. This would take forever, I knew, so I carefully selected a different lane with only two other customers ahead of me. Since the first customer in line was already half-way through getting rung up, I was confident in my lane selection.

About twenty minutes later...I kid you not...it was finally my turn to get checked out. I don't know what the cashier or the other customers in front of me were doing to take up that much time, but I obviously chose the "loser lane." Loser lane, schmoser lane. At around fifteen minutes into the wait, as all the other cashiers in the adjoining lanes called out, "Twenty-one," I felt even more confident in my decision. And I do mean ALL the other cashiers. Jewel must be hiring for the summer. So what if I chose the loser lane? All wasn't lost. Turns out, I also mistakenly chose the Sky Citrus vodka that was on clearance sale with no price tag. And what does the cashier do? "Twenty-one!" Yep, my age-guessing abilities had failed me. The older cashier who'd come over to ring it up said that she'd call for a price check and I asked if I should just go get a different bottle to speed things up a bit. She walked away from me. Not a word. Okay, I normally wouldn't have said anything. But she walked away from me. I kinda lost it. "Why are you walking away from me? Why is she walking away from me? Answer me! I've been in this lane for twenty minutes! I'm going to get a different bottle. Keep ringing!"

When I returned, with the shelf price sticker thingy that I'd ripped off the display (none of the bottles of Sky Citrus clearance vodka had price tags...what was I supposed to do?), a different of-age cashier came over to ring up the liquor. Then my adolescent cashier couldn't find the product code for cilantro.

By the time I finished my transaction, I'd realized a few things: Check for a price tag before approaching the check-out lane. Find the oldest cashier in the joint and make a b-line for that register. Drink as much vodka as you can before going grocery shopping on a Saturday afternooon.