In the Bourne Identity, Matt Damon plays an amnesiac super-agent. There's a scene in a diner where Matt is fed up with his amnesia (though he must live with it, or risk ending the movie one hour early.) Matt's pissed. He's like, "Why do I know all the license plates of the cars outside? Why do I know the best place to find a gun is in the cab of that truck? Why do I know the waitress weighs 120 pounds and is left-handed?" Why does he know? Because the U-States Government (that's what I call the United States, because it's all about YOU—p.s. that doesn't make sense or mean anything) trains its operatives to completely notice surroundings, so they act, not re-act, in dangerous situations. Do you know how I know this? I inferred (opposite of imply, but not as opposite as Minotaur, which is super-opposite) it from the Bourne Identity. This was confirmed also by the Bourne Supremacy, Lethal Weapon, The Transporter, and Beverly Hills Cop (the "banana in the tailpipe" is precisely the kind of "out of the box" thinking we need to defeat Terror—especially before it morphs into a girl—something it won't do—because Terror isn't a shape-shifting monster, but an emotion that can take any form—and often has a beard.)

Now, here's a video in which I play a secret agent.

In Edinburgh, on The Royal Mile, there are countless shops that sell chain mail, swords, armor, and basically whatever you need to fight an Ogre (anything much bigger would require magic to defeat.) Walking around Edinburgh, along with memories of ads for a Jean Reno movie, in which he is a Knight that arrives in modern times (remember how confused Paul Hogan was by the bidet in Crocodile Dundee? Now double that), gave me the idea for this video. I never saw the Reno movie, but I bet he was very surprised by the world around him. To someone from the Middle Ages, it would be difficult to understand something as simple as a telephone (especially one built into a shoe) or something as complicated as Who's the Boss? (it was Angela, actually.) They probably have no reference point. Still, it's what made me think of this video.

The latest version of Quicktime is required to view this film clip.

About 10 years ago, when Alan Keyes (not to be confused with the lead singer of Led Zeppelin, who has a different name, is white, and British) ran for president, my friend Tony V. and I organized an auction at a comedy club to raise money for Alan "I Can Blow Myself, But Must Keep It A Secret" Keyes. (If he really could, I'm sure the Republican Machine would bar him from discussing it publicly—in private, they would let him show off, of course.)

In about two hours, Tony and I raised $51 (along with some foreign money—from Thailand I believe.) We then mailed the cash in an envelope (it was before you could mail things in jack-o-lanterns) with a note that said, "We think you are crazy, but good luck." I don't know if it is illegal to accept foreign cash in a political campaign, but it would explain Alan's sex vacation fetish, that I am making up now.

At the time, I didn't have a lot of experience donating money to political campaigns. In college I found much of the activism around me aggravating (in hindsight, I was totally right to be annoyed.) However, I quickly found out what happens. You begin to receive letters and calls every month asking for money. At first the requests were from Alan. He had created a lot of debt during his presidential crusade (perhaps he was just born 900 years too late—a child of a different era.)

Eventually, I began to receive other letters from all sorts of ultra-conservative organizations (not the kind that want a strong military, lower taxes, or some sort of individual responsibility, but more the kind that are terrified that Liberals are building a Godless helmet that uses the energy from a child's smile to power a machine that takes everyone's wealth and turns it into homosexuality. That kind of ultra-conservative.) You would be surprised how many organizations can recombine the words America, Angels, Children, and United. I know I was. Eventually, I moved and somehow many of these organizations lost touch with me.

Until six months ago. I began receiving phone calls from United American Technologies (or a non-profit associated with them, I'm still not sure.) UAT is a phone company. But unlike other phone companies they answer to God. And do you know who God dislikes? Their competitors. Do you know why? They support ills of all kinds—homosexuality, The ACLU, pornography, child pornography, and super-porn (a disgusting form of porn that degrades all kinds of heroes, from teachers to magic crime-fighters.)

I thought most people wouldn't believe this company was real. But it is. And I recorded my phone calls with them as proof. This is the second time they called me. They had introduced themselves to me once before, and though the first time I was shocked, this time I decided to agree with them.

Here's the call.

It was pointed out to me that in a previous entry I refer to Zeus as coming to earth and having sex in the form of a goose. In fact, he came as a swan. I'm sorry. Still, maybe if Zeus had come as a goose, there wouldn't be so much fighting in the Middle East. Thanks Zeus. You've helped enough. Just go back to having more crap spring out of your head like Gods, rivers, love, or whatever. Now, onto the present entry . . .

I spent the month of August in Edinburgh at the Fringe Festival. I did 25 shows in a row (with one day off) in a giant, cavernous stone building that is normally too wet to be occupied. I'm not sure what it was used for centuries ago, but I imagine a very wealthy family that had a wetness fetish lived there.

Edinburgh's Fringe Festival is the biggest arts festival in the world. There are about 2000 different shows. If you want to see a play about Star Trek, a Japanese comedy team, or a Frenchman surrounded by fire eat his own face this is the place to be. Plus they have an abundance of whisky, swords, and general ancientness. There is also a fantastic nightlife, complete with people vomiting on themselves (from liquor, not disease) somewhat early in the evening.

I lived at the bottom of the Royal Mile, a cobble street that lead to a giant castle—which I never attacked (too well guarded, even now.) The Royal Mile is swamped with tourists. One day I was walking up the Royal Mile to my venue and saw three teen punk-rock girls with cardboard protest signs that read, "Go Home!" I understand a certain youthful distaste for tourists and khakis, and it is infuriating to see an American High School chorus, side by side with a tattooed Australian sword juggler. Still, it was funny that they were fed up with the biggest fringe arts festival in the world, and not, say, war or child alcoholism (a real problem in Edinburgh, and something American officials should bring up when people accuse our public schools of failing). These girls were like, "Fuck you, people from all over the world pumping shitloads of money into our economy to support weird theater, and help fund our semi-socialist government. Go home! This very touristy block is where we come to break shit, including—ideas, bottles, and dress codes." On my list of things to protest, fringe arts is probably slightly below protesting unreasonably cold ice cream, but slightly above protesting good health care.

After my month in Edinburgh I went pretty much straight to Seattle for Bumbershoot (a great four day arts festival.) This is a clip of some standup (about Edinburgh—but recorded in Seattle. What? Yes.)

As a note, in the clip, comedian Andrew Donnelly (who stars in many of our favorite commercials, including Earthlink and a soap one) introduces me as "television's Eugene Mirman." He does that whenever he gets a chance. It's because a few years ago Andrew and I were doing a show and I was brought up with a list of random credits that most audiences are more confused than delighted by, including Late Friday (a short lived late night NBC standup show), and Food Network (I was a spokes-potato on it for Potato Weekend a few years back, not to brag, too late, sorry). I then facetiously (that is literally the biggest word I know, excluding Weltschmerz, ha, fooled you) opened with "Hi I'm television's Eugene Mirman." The audience and I had a laugh—they knew and I knew that no one knew who I was, even though I had been on television around five times (sadly, for me, it wasn't 1958 when that would have catapulted me to Shelly Berman-like stardom.) After that night Andrew always called me "Television." (I just let you in to an unimportant, but very specific part of my world—something most people would be afraid to do, either because they are emotionally unavailable, or worse, falling, and preoccupied with trying to not break.)

Here is the clip of some standup.

One night at Rififi, after Invite Them Up (a weekly comedy show I do with friends on Wednesdays), a guy, who I dubbed "Mr. Delicious," hit on my friend. I don't know his real name, but he acted like he was the nectar of love—more masculine than Apollo, sexier than Zeus (who, if you believe mythology, once had sex with someone in the form of a goose, something you couldn't do in today's conservative America). Mr. Delicious very confidently asked my friend, "What do you do?" "I'm a teacher," she responded. Oh yeah? Guess what— "I'm a model," he said. He acted with the confidence of four very confident people. He went on to talk about how he'd take her to Bungalow 8 (I think that's what it's called), he bragged about having sex with a wealthy married woman (a true accomplishment), and then as an aside mentioned, "Her husband beats her" (a very sexy fact).

I have no idea whether he was telling the truth or lying, because what he was saying was so confident, but weird. Ultimately, all of this hitting on culminated in an amazing quote. In a way that let her know that if they had sex nothing afterwards would compare, he exclaimed, "I'm going to blow through your pussy." There's countless other stuff he said and did over the course of the evening. Watching that unfold, along with something in Maxim Magazine that I did, made me make this sex advice video.

My Sex Advice Video