Social media is a joke. Like everything else in this world, is has evolved into an advertising conduit.

It started out with good intentions, I suppose. I remember, years ago, when Jerusalem participants in that new thing called “Twitter” got together in person and had “Tweet-ups.” That was fun.

That was a long time ago.

Now, I’m trying to get my terrific novel, 5IVE SPEED ( https://www.amazon.com/5IVE-SPEED-REVISED-Charley-Warady-ebook/dp/B079Z6WNDS/ref=zg_bs_7588841011_f_21?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=MH8TNA4RW0NFCH9SS8RC#customerReviews ) produced into a mini-series for TV.

But the connections possible through social media won’t be the answer. It’s an exercise in futility.

Social media is bullshit, other than showing cute kitties and blooper tapes. Unless one is in LA and has the proper connections, it is impossible for me to get something as great as 5IVE SPEED out there and produced, and places like Linked In, Facebook, etc. are as useless as I feared. I’m here in Israel with no place to turn, and thinking that the ability to reach the right people through social media is a farce. It’s sad because the reality of the situation is so divorced from the possibility.

And here I am typing away on social media, which will reach a bunch of people who can’t and won’t help me at all, but HEY!…at least I got it out of my system…

Right?

Social Media Is Bullshit was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

As long as I can remember, my Dad has been a stand up comedian. Even when he’s taken breaks from performing, he has always been a comedian. There have been upsides and downsides to this. I have never re-heard a story I have told my Dad word for word as I have told it. I can’t scientifically explain the way my Dad hears my stories. I just know that what I told and what he hears are two different things. Anyone with a stand up comedian in their life can relate. It can be very frustrating.

The upside is that I saw and heard the greats from a very young age. I’m a millennial(still not sure how that is considering I’m 33 and have a job and my own place…)and if I were to ever meet Mel Brooks in real life- that would be my greatest moment. I know 2000 Year Old Man by heart, I have seen all the Marx Bros. movies, and I used to have an Abbott and Costello poster of “Who’s On First” in my room.

I was raised on the fact that EVERYTHING is a joke waiting to be made, if you say it right.

Nothing is too soon. Nothing is off limits.

It really is all in the delivery.

Like I said, I am a comedy snob. I don’t think “potty humor” is funny. It makes me uncomfortable and when I’m uncomfortable, I don’t laugh.Using an infinite amount of swear words in your act for no other reason then, I’m guessing, because you can- does not make me laugh.

I LOVE inappropriate jokes. When Ricky Gervais did a WHOLE bit about a dead baby, I was in tears(it sounds really horrible, but watch it on Netflix-it was awesome). He delivered it perfectly. He was smart about how to say it and what to say. But, when Sara Silverman did an Aushwitz/Holocaust joke on Hilarity for Charity(great cause, not so awesome show), I cringed.

“It’s not our job to appeal to the lowest common denominator, Doug. It’s our job to raise it. If you’re going to be the “Education President,” it’d be nice not to hide that you have an education.” — President Bartlet, Manchester Part 2, Season 3- I know, fake president-but still, this is how I feel about comedy. Comedy snob, guilty.

Stand Up and be funny was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The adrenaline high. The adrenaline drain. There was a time in my life that that was my weekly routine. It was the life of a standup comedian. Many years ago, while still living in the States, I’d wake up in a hotel room and have to think for a couple minutes before remembering what city or town from which I had just woken.

It’s been a few years since I’ve done standup. I had changed my act since moving to Israel to include life in Israel, comments on the culture, religion, and living in a very foreign country. The act lasted a few very good years.

Then, I got tired of it.

I always wanted to do what I did while living in the States. Generic, funny, standup comedy.

A series of unexplainable events, both physical and mental, made it possible again. It happened last night.

I wrote new material (I hate writing new material). I practiced like crazy (I hate practicing). I went on stage (I love being on stage).

It was a small room, and it was a small “crowd”. But they loved what I did. Even though I left out a couple bits by accident, they still laughed as hard as they used to, and I still felt as comfortable as ever.

Here is a sampling of what it was like:

The only way I can describe it is as being at home. I was back home.

I’m going to write more. I’m going to expand. I’m going to do what I truly believe I was meant to do. At this late stage of the game, I don’t know why I only realize it now. Perhaps, it was because I was away from it and tried to deny it. Try to deny your essence some time. Let me know how it feels.

Last night was great. I think the audience enjoyed it half as much as I did.

The Morning After was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It happened Tuesday night. It doesn’t matter what night it happened, and it may not even have been Tuesday night.

Whatever night it happened, it was the night that my life took a turn and there’s no going back. It’s all downhill from here, and fortunately, I don’t think the hill is that steep.

I woke up in the middle of the night.

I turned on the light that is on my nightstand, and sat up straight.

I looked next to me, and strangely enough, Carol was there, who woke up when I turned on my light. What the hell was she doing there?

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I didn’t say anything. I looked around the room and it was dark, which was not that strange if it’s anywhere after around 6 PM. I clicked on my phone to see that it was 2:15 AM. “It’s 2:15 in the morning!”

“And?”

I put my hand to my forehead. “I thought I was just taking a nap!”

I thought about it for a moment. “It’s happened! I’ve crossed the line. I can’t tell the difference between a nap and sleep!”

“Can you turn off your light?”

I did. And I went back to…sleep?

I thought I had turned napping into an art form. Now all the lines have been blurred. I went a step too far. It’s like that one drink that made me an alcoholic. I don’t know which one it was…but it had to have been there.

I still take naps.

Or do I? Are they naps…or just small sleeps? I don’t know anymore. I’ve become afraid to blink, fearing that I’ll only get halfway through completion.

I would venture to say that it was one of the weirdest experiences of my life, but it only takes me a minute to realize it’s not even included in the list of the top three-hundred.

I’m even a little tired now.

I wonder what time it is?

Don’t forget to read my hilarious newly published book, “5ive Speed”. Just click on the link.

To Sleep…Perhaps To Nap was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I used to go nuts before a first date. My hopes and dreams of him canceling have not come true and now I have to decide what to wear. It would normally end with me sitting in front of my closet, exasperated, my whole wardrobe thrown on my bed and the realization that I have nothing to wear.

Then my friend gave me a great idea. Pick an outfit that you feel comfortable and good in. This is your first date outfit.

At first I thought she was crazy.

I mean, what if I don’t feel in the mood to wear that shirt with those jeans? What if I feel like a different person on this first date than I did on the other first date? (Yes, these are real things women think about when getting ready. What mood are we in and who are we today?)

I compiled an outfit that I think says everything you need to know about me(a little bit country, a little bit rock n roll). A black shirt(if you’re looking for a partner who wears colors, keep on looking), destroyed jeans(if you are looking for a partner who wears skirts and dresses, keep on looking)and my Stan Smith sneakers(if you are looking for a partner who wears heels, keep on looking).

I am all about giving the right first impression. This look doesn’t lie. This is who I am. A nice shirt, but nothing fancy, and jeans. I am a jeans person. I am a sneaker person. I am rock n roll and above all, comfy.

The first date outfit has solved my end of the world, I have nothing to wear, my closet vomited on my bed, problem.

Now if I can only solve the- he hasn’t canceled, I have to actually go out with him, problem….

The First Date was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The saying goes that no one should be allowed to live rent-free in your head. In other words, we’re talking about resentments. Resentments are a funny thing. They only happen inside my head.

I’m not saying they don’t happen in your head. They might. But it’s my head we’re talking about.

Anger is a natural, human emotion. If someone has to deal with people, he or she is going to deal with anger. I know this applies to me. It’s not easy being the smartest person in the room.

Any room.

Anger goes away. Sometimes, it goes away immediately. But when I’m staring at the ceiling at 2 A.M. having a conversation with someone who is somewhere else, sleeping peacefully…knowingly not thinking about me…

…that’s a resentment.

Those people are occupying a place in my head, rent-free, and they don’t belong there. They’ve set up house, and even decorated a bit. Their furniture is nicer than mine.

This has to stop.

I’m not saying I’m going to stop having resentments. Let’s be realistic here.

I’m saying that I’m not going to let anyone live rent-free in my head anymore.

From now on, if you receive an invoice from me at the end of the month, and at the top of the page is the word “Rent,” then you owe me the money I have listed on the bill.

Of course, there will be different pricing. The minor resentments, living on the lower floors, will not have to pay as much.

But there is one person in particular, right now, who is occupying the penthouse and that is going to cost a fortune.

Sorry. I don’t make the rules.

Believe me…I’m not in search of tenants. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be much happier if the building was empty. But that doesn’t seem to be happening. No more free rides. No more squatters. You’re ruining my neighborhood.

So…from now on…if you’re going to live in my head…

…pay me.

You’ll get my bill.

Don’t forget to buy my newly published book available on Kindle or paperback, “5IVE SPEED.” You’ll laugh until you throw up.

No More Free Rent In My Head was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Thank you, Jeff Bezos. You have not only given us Amazon and Kindle, but you have given us Kindle Direct Publishing. You have told literary agencies around the globe what authors have wanted to tell them forever: “You guys don’t know shit.”

Quite a few years ago, I used KDP to publish my novel, “5IVE SPEED” and it did fairly well, but I wasn’t quite satisfied. I got a nice check every 3 months or so, and I left it alone. But there was something itching me about the story. It wasn’t perfect.

I took it off Amazon. I line edited it myself, and changed some of the story around.

I was completely satisfied. “5IVE SPEED” had become a funny, thought provoking book, that people outside of the “literary world” absolutely loved. I knew I had done something really good.

This book was so good that I was going to go the traditional way and get a NY (or LA) literary agent and go mainstream. I literally queried hundreds of agents only to be ignored or rejected with a form email.

I did have a handful of requests for the manuscript. The response was always the same. Humor (as funny as the book is) is such a hard sell, they just don’t want to deal with it. It would take..ya know…effort.

I have come to realize that literary agents are the laziest group of professionals who are allowed to exist. They make my old profession, stand-up comedian, look like we actually work for a living.

My favorite email from agents were the ones requesting the first ten pages pasted into the email…not an attachment. Yeah…right.

Power trip? I’m convinced that on the “Literary Agent Job Questionnaire,” question number 12 is “Were you beaten and bullied as a child and being a literary agent will give you a chance at some sort of revenge?”

So, I have published the new, revised edition of “5IVE SPEED” on Amazon for Kindle. I priced it at $2.99 so no one has an excuse not to buy it. And when you do, please write a review on Amazon for it.

Help me to get the word out on it on social media, word of mouth, or (god forbid) face to face. I promise you’ll love it.

If you don’t love it, I’ll return your money personally. ($2.99…are you kidding me?!)

Literary Agents…Bite Me was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

On February 14, I wrote a story on Medium called “REJECTED” . It’s a two minute read, and to understand the rest of this story, it’s worth your two minutes to read it. Click on the underlined title above.

I sent a link to the story to every literary agent who rejected my book(which were very…very…many), and the response was all too predictable.

Literary agents don’t read. Or can’t read. Or choose not to read.

My email sent to them said simply:

I think you’ll like my story published on Medium called “REJECTED”. Let me know what you think. It’s a two minute read about “the industry.”

https://medium.com/3-minute-bits/rejected-b41ba532fc5b

Best,

Charley

The responses I’ve received so far have been laughable.

Anne Borchardt, of The GB Agency replied,

“I am afraid your novel does not fit our list. Good luck.

SIncerely,

Anne Borchardt”

I didn’t send her my novel! I sent her a link to an article. A two minute article. Her brain didn’t even click into gear before she had already emailed the rejection for a query.

And her’s was not unusual.

Amelia Atlas of ICM wrote:

“I’m sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but I’m sorry to say this doesn’t sound quite like a fit for my list. I wish you all the best with it.

Amelia Atlas”

What doesn’t quite fit her list? An article that takes two minutes to read? She’s absolutely right. A two minute read would be a difficult manuscript to sell. I’m sure that’s what she meant…right?

Anyone who has browsed the list of bestsellers on Amazon and have read any of them, knows that it doesn’t take a genius to be a literary agent and to sell a manuscript if he or she so chooses. The feasibility of literary agents actually being brain dead never occurred to me.

Okay, so here’s one more (of the many), just so you get the point and enjoy it as much as I have.

Michael Carlisle of InkWell Management, kept it short, sweet, and nonsensical: “My answer of 9/18 holds. Try others.”

I wasn’t querying! I’m not the idiot here!

The debate on self-publishing continues to go back and forth. I would love to have faith in literary agencies and major publishing houses or independent publishing houses. But I have tested the waters of the literacy of literary agents, and so far, they have failed miserably.

I am not angry or spiteful. I am enlightened.

I set the bar way too high when I sent out my queries for my novel. I truly felt I would be dealing with professionals, great sales people, and lovers of the art of literature. People who were not afraid of a challenge; in fact it was one of the reasons they loved their craft.

It turns out that they’re dregs just like the rest of us.

The Illiteracy Of Literary Agents was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The Republican politicians are counting on the teens caring for a few days and then settling down. The NRA is counting on the same thing. The teens will be outraged, and march, and scream, and smoke a joint, and forget about the whole thing with a bag of Doritos. After all…they can’t vote, anyway. They’ll quit.

I have a better idea. The idea?

Don’t.

You may not have a vote, but you have means to get things done. And you are the only ones who can do it. I’m talking to Emma Gonzalez, the outspoken teen from Parkland, Florida who has been in the news lately. I’m talking to you not just for Florida, but for the entire country.

Here’s the plan:

Organize. Find other teen leaders around the country and organize. Do not lose your rage.

Boycott. Until your schools are safe; until your movie theaters are safe; until your lives are more important than the money from the NRA…boycott.

Don’t go to school. Don’t go to movie theaters. Don’t go to concerts. Constantly protest until gun control legislation and regulation has been signed into law by the White House. Don’t go to school until that happens.

Don’t make it a one day protest or walk-out. Every politician worth his or her slime can withstand that. Don’t go to school until a law is signed by the Russian…I mean…Commander In Chief.

You won’t get every teen on board across the country, but you’ll get enough to make the news on TV every night.

Gather your fellow leaders across the country and plan this thing out. Make the public (and the NRA) know that just because you can’t vote doesn’t mean you won’t be heard. It’s you guys that are getting shot!

If nothing changes…nothing changes.

The politicians are waiting for you to end, and the next news cycle to begin.

It’s time for teens to make history. It’s time to make the gun lobbyists’ lives a living hell. It’s time to stay away from dangerous places…like your own schools.

Make history, Emma Gonzalez. And bring the rest of us along with you. Share this article as much as you can with as many people as you can. Social media counts. Ask any Russian spy!

Until government legislation is signed into law…

…raise hell. And don’t quit.

Emma Gonzalez! It’s Your Call was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I went on two dates with a guy. Good dates. Those, as I have said, are the worst. Then the ghosting started to happen. For those of you who do not know what this is, first of all-you live a very happy and peaceful life. Second of all- it’s when a boy/girl just disappears without a trace. Doesn’t text back and basically acts like he/she doesn’t know you.

In my case, my ghost was more the real deal. He would haunt my text messages every once in a while, but never mentioned a third date.

I hate ghosting. Aziz Ansari told Jerry Seinfeld on “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee”: “One thing people can do now is they don’t have to say anything back, they just give you silence.” He goes on to make the joke that before texts and WhatsApp, you never had this problem. You couldn’t go up to a girl and ask them out and just get them staring blankly into your face and not say anything.

You had to use your freaking(I had another F word in mind, but my Dad reads this)words! I tell my kids at daycare this all the time. You learn about using your words from the age of 2! How is it that there are some people who forget this very important lesson??

There is another person, a real live human being, at the other end of the conversation-staring at their phone, waiting to hear what you have to say.

In the case of my ghost, being the wonderful educated person that I am, and dealing with 2 year olds every day all day, I gave him no choice but to use his words. I just asked him, point blank, are we going on another date or nah(I mean, obviously cuter then that)? He texted back the same excuse: “I had a lot of fun, but I’m in a weird place right now, yadda yadda yadda(I’m going for a Seinfeld theme here apparently). I told him that all was good(lies..I’m not totally happy about this),it was just important to me that he used his words!(truth). He texted back that it really is important and that I’m awesome.

I told him that he is very right.

I am totally awesome.

Use Your Words was originally published in 3 Minute Bits on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.