Archives For September 2014

imagesWhen I was in and on the market to entertain the ladies, I had a fool proof method that never failed!

I would choose one from the herd that appealed to me and I would walk over to her. Once in front of her, I would give her a moment to size me up. Then, I would begin!

“Miss, please stop thinking about my Genitals! I can feel it and it makes me uncomfortable! First, let me assure you that I have large balls, the size of ‘Brown Chicken Eggs’ My Cock is small and only Eight Inches, when erect! I don’t like to go anywhere and I don’t want to do anything! All I want to do is sit in front of the TV and eat meatloaf!

Without exception, every one of these women said the same thing! “You’re the first honest man I have ever met! Let’s get out of here!

I have used this technique several hundred times and it has never failed!

I am Kip Addotta



When I was nine years old I could walk to school and back, by myself, although I never had the feeling that I was all by myself. I always had the feeling I was being watched and, indeed, I was.

I couldn’t help but notice olive-skinned young men with mustaches that I could see out of the periphery of my eyes. They never spoke to me, nor I them. I never acknowledged their presence but I was aware of them. More about these young men later…

I would leave our home at 1027 West Jefferson Street in Rockford, Il, take a left and proceed down the hill, across the railroad tracks and across a small bridge over Kent Creek. When I had crossed Kent Creek I made a right and proceeded along the creek on the road that ran between it and Fairgrounds Park. I would continue on until the road curved to the left in front of St. Thomas High School, where the teachers were all brothers, a rank just below priesthood. At the next corner I would take a right and walk to State Street, where the Dr. Pepper plant was. Then I would take a left. I would walk East on State Street, crossing over to the other side of the street where I had a stop to make on my way. My path would bring me in front of the Pontiac Dealership. Continuing East, I would finally get to Nino’s Coffee Shop.

I would walk into Nino’s with a bit of a swagger. This was my turf!

If I didn’t see Nino in the front, I would head for the kitchen because that’s where I knew he would be. He would be there in the kitchen, usually making a huge pot of coffee. After filling the tank with water, he would put the coffee in and put in four or five egg shells and start the machine. I had asked him once why he put egg shells in his coffee. He told me, “Because that takes the edge off the taste of the coffee.”

After greeting Nino, I would take a booth all by myself. It was my booth. It was located near the front of the coffee shop, facing the kitchen, not the street. That’s the way I liked it. I didn’t have to order because Nino knew what I wanted and soon he would bring me a cup of black coffee and an order of toast. I had already lit a cigarette. There I was, in my booth, at Nino’s Coffee Shop, with a cup of coffee, an order of toast, and a cigarette. Like a normal person! No one else in my family came to Nino’s. This was MY coffee shop, this was My hang, this was My turf.

As I enjoyed my cigarette, my coffee, and my toast, I watched the other customers intently.

Each one of them was either reading a paper, eating pancakes, or both. What fascinated me about these people was that each one of them had their own individual style of eating their pancakes and reading their paper. No two alike. Each one dealt with his newspaper differently, folding it differently, snapping it differently, each in their own way. The same with the pancakes. Each man would deal with his stack of pancakes differently. They would take the fork and the knife and either cut them in a window pane manner, or they would cut the stack into pie shapes with a criss-cross, and a myriad of other techniques. To me this was the best spectator sport there was. I was fascinated by it. I was part of a group.

These were my cohorts because all of us had one thing in common, we were all men having breakfast at Nino’s. This is one of the most vivid memories of my life, and I cherish it to this day. They all knew me by name. I was “Kippy!” I, on the other hand, did not know their names, nor did I want to. They were all my buddies, at Nino’s.

When I had finished my coffee, my order of toast, and my two cigarettes, I would stand up, reach into my right front pocket, retrieve the quarter, and put it on the table with a snap. That’s the way us guys did it! Then I would strut out of Nino’s, take a right, walk half a block, turn right, and there before me on the left side of the street, at the end of the block, was St. Mary’s.


The Knights of Columbus was a Catholic Men’s association with a great hall near St. Mary’s. I’m sure that during the day members would hang out there at the bar, have cocktails, discuss the day’s affairs, politics, and upcoming events. It was rumored that the Bishop, and even the Cardinal of the diocese, would visit on occasion for bonding, conversation and, of course, cocktails. Nuns and ladies were not allowed. You see, the Knights of Columbus is a Catholic mens’ organization that is involved in charities. They would also march in parades, adorned in the Knights of Columbus black uniforms, red sashes, silver swords, and knight-like helmets, with great pomp and circumstance. They were beautiful and we, as a diocese, were proud of them.

But on Friday nights they would be home with their families, and the Knights of Columbus hall would hold the Friday night Knights of Columbus dance for all the boys and girls of the diocese. On the second floor, they had a large and beautiful dance floor, stage, and side bar. It was free, so all of us boys and girls would show up for the Knights of Columbus dance. We were all approximately 11 to 12 years old. As you entered the hall, the girls would all be sitting on the left side, and the boys on the right, facing each other like Napoleonic troops waiting to engage. It was like Napoleon on the right, and Wellington on the left, and would turn out to be the location of my Waterloo.

Mostly the girls would dance with each other and the boys would sit and watch. The music would be the Everly Brothers, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and people like the feared Jerry Vale, Tony Martino, and Paul Anka. Feared, because they would introduce the dreaded slow dances.

During slow dances the girls wouldn’t dance with each other, they would sit and stare across the floor at the boys, and the boys would sit there, and stare at the girls across the floor. The girls would gossip with each other, with their hand over their mouth, and giggle. The boys sat in stoic terror, not talking to one another but knowing that some one, any one, one of us was expected to be the first pitiful pawn to make the ultimate sacrifice and step onto and cross the battlefield and engage the enemy.

On one of these occasions, as usual I sat there with no intention of being the first to become the pitiful pawn splattered on the field of honor. I would wait for some other ill-prepared little Napoleonic sacrificial soldier to charge into the breach and confront Wellington’s army, which were seasoned battle-hardened, well equipped, and confident members of the brigade with their crinolines and bobby soxs and penny loafers and bows in their hair.

As I sat there waiting for one of our troops to march to his death, for some unknown reason, some ill-fated, unconscious, impulse I found myself standing, and then, with an unexpected urge I stepped out onto the field. What was I doing? What had I done? As I took the second step, sweat beaded into my scalp and poured down my face. I took the third step and found myself now exposed before both Wellington’s and my own troops, therefore committed to certain disaster. At this point the sweat at the nape of my neck formed a stream, ran down my spine, through my butt-crack and formed a pool just beneath my young testicles, which had not yet dropped. They hung in this pool of vile fear-induced liquid. I could feel the eyes of our brigade on my back. What was Kippy doing? Has he gone mad? This is unprecedented! He has obviously lost his senses!

I was committed. In the middle of the void my knees began to tremble, my legs began to fall behind the upper part of my body, they wanted to turn and run, but the upper part of my body knew they could not do that. My penis, being wiser than I, abandoned me, withdrew, and disappeared into my body. Now I was alone. This would not be the last time the little laggard would desert me in the middle of an unfortunate, ill-fated, impotent, skirmish. With all of my strength I moved each of my now-cramping legs forward, one after the other. But wait, what if I’m wrong? What if I don’t fail? I’m a good person! I mean no harm! I’m doing my duty. I’m representing my brigade. This could work!

My eyes darted right and left looking for an accepting face on one of these girls, someone who looked kind and forgiving, you never know. Some of them, one of them, might like me! My eyes focused, like a spring that had stopped quivering, there — there — that might be her. Cecilia Italias, she was nice, we got along. Granted, not the prettiest one, but this was no time to be fussy. Our eyes met, the rest of her brigade, on either side of her, whipped their eyes to her and watched, and scrutinizing the attempt. I found myself standing in front of her, a small blob of feces fell from my butt and splashed into the pool of sweat that had formed beneath it. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room watching, some 100 strong. There was a hushed silence. I forgot what I was going to say. Wait a minute, I completely forgot, I can’t remember the words. What was I going to say?

Time stood still. The blob of feces had sunken to the bottom of the pool of sweat and was now resting on my briefs. That’s okay, the odor wouldn’t rise to anyone’s nose, I had plenty of time. But what were those words? What were the words? Suddenly my mind had retrieved them. I had the words! I knew the words! I gulped, I inhaled, I slowly pulled the hammer back, I squeezed the trigger, releasing the hammer, and let them fly. There was complete and utter silence. My right ear could hear someone 100 feet away, urinating. Or was it me? I wasn’t sure. Maybe this urine was pouring out of the bottom of one of my pant legs, onto my shoe! “Would you like to dance?” She looked to the left, she looked to the right, she looked behind me at the troops sitting at what now seemed a half a mile away.

Her eyes scanned downward to the floor. I was sure she could see the urine dripping onto my shoe. Her eyes slowly came up and met mine. A second blob of poop joined the other at the bottom of the pool. Then she said it, it came out of her mouth as if it was an air raid siren. I’m sure the cars outside were stopping, and people were running and ducking and covering their heads for the impending bomb that was about to strike. “Oh, that’s okay!”

That’s okay? What does that mean? Is that a yes or a no? That’s okay? What was she talking about? What was okay? Am I okay? Is it okay that we dance? What’s okay!

From behind me I heard it, my own troops! “Ohhhhhh, ohhhhh.” mutter mutter. I had failed! That’s what okay meant! At the same instant all of her troops crossed their legs in the opposite direction and looked the other way. I turned and travelled back across the field to join my now disappointed regiment. Closer and closer I came and approached their stone-like faces. I had let them down. I had failed. The poop, now liquified by the sweat was running down my inner thighs. I could smell it myself. I turned right. I ran to the stairs, and down, out into the street. The liquified poop was now entering the top of my socks.

I ran up on the porch, into my home, closing the door behind me. I knew that I could never return to St. Mary’s. I would have to find another school, a school where no one knew me. I peeled off my clothing, rolled it all up, and put it into the bottom drawer of the bureau. By morning it would be dry and I could burn them, along with the memory and the horror that had become my Waterloo!

Victor Addotta

Dear Son

Gee, its great being your father! I am Proud of you, more than you could know! You have always been a good kid, That’s why you have always had so many admirers, me among them!

Of course, the early years were the best for me! You looked up at me as if I were a God. Then, even after you realized that I was, indeed, not a God, you still continued to admire me and I you. You lived in my home until you were twenty-three and I loved it! Once I over heard you speaking to someone, on the phone. You said, “I’ve got the best dad in the world!” This was and remains the proudest moment of my life and I will cherish it till the end of time. Thank you!

Then there came a time when, as much as I hated the idea, I felt it was my duty to nudge you out of the nest. So, I went to you and informed you that you would be required to begin to contribute to your support. You did this without question, but after a time came to me and, as always, you told me the truth. You said, “Dad, I can’t get used to paying for something that has always been free.” I said, “I understand!”

Not long after that you moved into your own apartment. My heart was broken, but I knew that I had done the right thing.

You played and experimented with life as a young man should, then, after a few years you met a girl and after a time we, you and I, were on the phone and you said, “Dad, I’m going to ask Sibylle to marry me!” I said, “when did you come to this decision?” You said, ‘right now while we’ve been talking!”

Sibylle and you were married and have been together ever since. The two of you are in love and an ‘Item” to this day! I love you both with all of my heart!

Sibylle and I have had some rough times because, as wonderful as she remains, she did take my son from me, as all wives should do.

Those times are behind us now and I believe that Sibylle and I have come to tolerate each other well. I love my Daughter In-Law and I believe she has become fond of me.

However, as I believe, I still think of you and miss my little boy. I think it’s only natural! To me, although you are a wonderful Man, you will always be my little boy!

Your Dad

Kip Addotta


Why I Didn't Change My Name When I Got Married!

I’m not against it, but why would a woman marry a man and, then, not pay him the courtesy of taking his last name! I know Movie Stars do it, but I’m not talking about Movie Stars here!

Amber Kathleen Ryan Hmmm. I guess, because I too have had some hilarious run-ins with civil servants when I applied for passports or applied for work from time to time. But then, I’ve had so many names, they always suspect me of something. And… my daughter is running for school board using her maiden name instead of her married name and it just seems like the thing to do to avoid confusion. And I’m a feminist. And just in the mood, I guess. (Or, perhaps, your calling the wife ‘disrespectful’ for not taking someone else’s name, set off some alarms from the old days… my old days.)

Scott Shimamoto She’s not taking his last name because she plans to take half of his assets when they get divorced. She’s not THAT selfish!!! Haha

Craig Matteson I have friends who were not related bit both had the last name Monson. He always says he took her last name.

Kip Addotta Kristin Pearson Samet, you are correct and I stand corrected! I HAVE never thought of it! BTW, not that it matters, but my former wife has always kept my name. Your comment made me realize why. It must be because of our children! Thank you for teaching me something! You’re tops!

Julie Savay- Ross For me, I added his last name onto mine…I already had a thriving career and was well known by my original name so by adding on the Ross, I never had an issue with identity in business or with the press. Its all good

Kristin Pearson Samet Kip, thank you – ever the gentleman are you.

Morley Shulman Interestingly enough, when John married Yoko, he changed his middle name to John Winston Ono Lennon.

Kristin Pearson Samet So, Kip, this begs the question: if a woman doesn’t take her fiancee’s name, does that mean he gets to skip buying her an engagement ring? What’s fair is fair, right?

Kip Addotta Kristin Pearson Samet, I guess not (Hanging my head)

Morley Shulman I asked my girlfriend if she would change her name if we got married and she asked me what I preferred. I told her whatever made her happiest. Even Shakespeare said “what’s in a name?”

Kip Addotta Morley Shulman, Like YOU have a girlfriend!

Morley Shulman I never said she had any taste… just that I have one!

Melissa Schickel first of all, I know a man who actually took his wife’s last name. Secondly my father was the only male in his family. I am the last sole survivor of that family. Since my brother passed away in Vietnam and had no children I am the last schickel. so I have often thought about that, and have often thought that I probably would not change my last name because I would want that legacy to carry on since there would be no one else to actually carried on other than me. for that reason I would probably not take the husband’s last name

Kristin Pearson Samet awww, Kip, I was just trying to save you men a few sheckles !

Brett S. Harrison That actually doesnt bother. What defines a marriage is love not whose last name you have. What bothers me is when they take 2 last names, like “Kathy Wepner-Goldberg”. Crap or get off the pot

Kip Addotta Brett S. Harrison, Valid point, Brett! And thank you for not cussing. You’re a good man!

Brett S. Harrison Thank you and you’re welcome Kipalah. And I see no point to cussin.

Gary Schoonover My wonderful wife has worked very hard and become quite successful in her field of business and when we got married a couple of years ago she said she wanted to keep her name for that reason. I told her that was absolutely fine with me.

Walt Kaufmann Right on Kipster. Outstanding point!

Narda Enander At this point new laws requiring a woman to have paperwork for every name she has ever used to get or renew a drivers license. Even though I have carried my married name since 1972 I have to prove it by providing my birth certificate, marriage license and even my divorce papers. So heaven forbid some poor woman married more than once. It’s as far as I am concerned the only real discrimination law. Even if I did marry again I would nit change my name again.

Kip Addotta Narda Enander, interesting how a simple and honest question, by me has proven to be very educational for me! You bring great information! Thank you Narda!

Narda Enander Kip, not only are you a hysterical comedian but you are also intelligent and astute as well.

Kip Addotta Narda Enander, I am and have worked extremely hard to become, in my opinion, the finest, living, stand-up Comedian, however, my real passion is my family and information from people like you! With only 11 years of schooling, I am passionate about information! Without it I cannot do my work. People want to send me jokes. I do not want jokes! I want to learn from my friends and I am having a wonderful day! Thank you again, Narda!!

Amber Kathleen Ryan And why shouldn’t the husband take on the last name of the wife instead?

Kip Addotta Amber Kathleen Ryan, My dear, all that matters in motive! And BTW, what is your motive for asking this question?

Amber Kathleen Ryan Hmmm. I guess, because I too have had some hilarious run-ins with civil servants when I applied for passports or applied for work from time to time. But then, I’ve had so many names, they always suspect me of something. And… my daughter is running for school board using her maiden name instead of her married name and it just seems like the thing to do to avoid confusion. And I’m a feminist. And just in the mood, I guess. (Or, perhaps, your calling the wife ‘disrespectful’ for not taking someone else’s name, set off some alarms from the old days… my old days.)

Scott Shimamoto She’s not taking his last name because she plans to take half of his assets when they get divorced. She’s not THAT selfish!!! Haha

Craig Matteson I have friends who were not related bit both had the last name Monson. He always says he took her last name.

Kip Addotta Amber Kathleen Ryan, This is a very honest and insight flu bomment and I thai you for it! BTW, I am a Masculinist! So, I understand!

Kristin Pearson Samet It would be difficult for a man to understand the identity crisis that changing one’s name creates. I hate having to use three names on my facebook profile so people can figure out who I am. Had I to do it over, I would have kept my original name and never have to go through that “Kristin, who?” ever again ! Think about it like this: In general, for women, a man offering an engagement ring is a sign of love and commitment. In general, for men, your taking his last name is an outward grand gesture that reflects your love and commitment to him. Men don’t get the hype over engagement rings. Women don’t get the hype of changing names. Call it even.

Melissa Schickel, You know Kip, I also wonder, doesn’t the practice of taking the man’s name go back to the days of when a woman became a man’s “property”? Hence he paid a dowery for her and she then became as much a part of what he “owned” very much like his land, etc.? Isn’t that really where the practice originated? It was a way of distinguishing whose woman belonged to what man in the days of the earliest settlements. I know there are several countries where the woman do not take the husband’s name. I am fairly certain Mexico is one of them. India I believe is another.

There are also a couple of other factors at play. In general, men don’t change their names once they are married. So contemplating the meaning of a name and the identity crisis that can come with a new name is foreign territory to them. Because they don’t have to deal with it, many just don’t understand how it could be a big deal. However, this is an issue to be seriously contemplated by any couple planning to marry. Until this is discussed, someone’s going to be very upset and it’s not the way to start off a marriage. Just my honest two cents.


Don, i’m a comedy veteran. So what!

That’s what I do for a living.

People treat me like that’s all there is to me! Do you really believe that I don’t have close to a half a million jokes in my files that I’ve written. Are you trying to compete with me, are calling me out to see who is the fastest gun?

My pages are riddled with this sort of thing, every day! What do you do or have you done for a living, in your lifer and how would you like for people to relate to you about only that facet of your life?

I am a man similar to you, Don and I would like to be related to in that way, Don! How would you like it if all I sent were jokes about your last name, Mr. Blinky? Because that’s what you and many others do to me, Mr Blinky! I hope this has made things clear to you and every one else, Sir!

I am Kip Addotta


As I observe people, in their business practices, I realize that they don’t seem to be going for the “Win!” To put it simply they aren’t willing to make the commitments to the due diligence that is required to be successful! They don’t return phone calls, show up on time for appointments and be prepared for the appointments.

Once they form bad habits they seem to stubbornly hold on to these bad practices and defend them with the explanation that these bad practices are their style and will not change their bad behavior even if doing so would gring them to success!

I have met a young man that says he has goals he wants to achieve, however he continues to be distracted by things that will insure his failure. He stated that he wanted to speak to me about business matters and he agreed to call me in a few minutes, one evening. I waited and waited, but his call never came. I made a call to him and he begged off, saying that he had forgotten that their was a game on that he wanted to watch and asked if we could talk the following day.

Now, when you have a family to support, one would think that, “The Game” could wait, but not him! He was determined to watch this game and his future be damned. He Just had to watch this game. The next day came and went and there was still no phone call. I’m ready to hook this guy up with work that would help him support his family and further his career and he was too busy to talk because he was in a bar “Watching another game!”

At this point I gave up and lost interest in dealing with him at all! He was so programed, by society, that he had the right to  watch sports games that he believed that it was more important to watch another game. That was his right, as an American citizen.

I’ve run into this sort often! And these signs that I was seeing were the signs not of a man that loved sports, but a man who had a drinking problem because nine times out of ten “Sports” was connected to liquor. Sports usually is. And that, in reality, was what was holding him from being successful.

I have given up on this individual all together, because I would never let sports and liquor come between supporting my family and furthering my career!

I am Kip Addotta

Today i am saddened by the news of a friend of mine’s death!

I will miss this friend, but will not mention my friends name, lest I be confused with all the people who did not know my friend, yet, believe that my friend would enjoy all the cruel and hateful things being said about my friend, with no concern fot my friend or my friend’s family. And, of course people will use my friends name, in order to draw people to their posts and news items!

Yes, my friend said deprecating things about many people, but never more than my friend said about my friend’s self! And I’ve never known anyone who worked harder, including myself. My friend was someone to admire and I do truly admire my friend. God Bless you kiddo!

My friend was taken off of life support, today. I wonder if these people who are posting comments about my friend know what being taken off of life support means? Does a doctor do it? No! Does a nurse do it? No! Does a hospital orderly do it? No!

When someone is taken off of life support, the switch it turned off by a person with power of attorney or the closest relative. In this case it was my friend’s daughter that turned the switch off. That is how it is done! If anyone can find humor in this please let me know, because I cannot!

I am mourning the passing of my friend and will not go to any of my social sites, today, for fear that I might see the hateful things, I hear, are being said! No, today, I will hang my head down and cry, I am crying now! Good bye fiend! See you soon!

I am Kip Addotta


09/03/2014 — 7 Comments

imagesPeople want to have a presence on FaceBook, but many of them try to do it by ‘fake posting’!

Fake posting is when one doesn’t really have anything to say so they find things that other people have created and post it simply to give their friends the impression that they are active.

I do not consider posting a photo or some sort of innocuous statement a valid post, because it doesn’t come from the mind of the person who posted it! I want to know what you think?  I want to know how you feel about something that is going on in your life? That’s a post!

Recently, a former friend of mine posted a video that must have been made in 1963. It was about a white woman who was complaining that she had to sit next to a black lady, on a bus. While I know that there is still work to be done on the matter of racism, I do believe that we are well past that sort of thing and personally, I am bored with the topic!

However, I can honestly say that I have never been a racist of any kind. And as Martin Luther King once said, “It is not the color of ones skin that is important, but the content of their character!” I believe that! Not all people of any color are good people!

One year, in High School Shop Class, I worked all year on a sheet metal hammer. I turned shaft and gnarled the handle on a lathe, I shaped the head on a milling machine and hand polished it to a high shine, by hand. It was beautiful! I was walking to school with it, after showing it off to my father, on the day I was supposed to turn it in for a grade. I was sure I would get an “A.”

As I walked along, I was admiring it when three boys stopped me and one of them asked me for directions while the other two slipped behind me. As I was giving the first boy the directions he asked me for, the other two grabbed my arms. The boy standing in front of me grabbed my hammer, punched me in the face, and knocked me to the ground. Then they all ran off with my hammer and my “A.”

I failed Shop Class that year because I didn’t turn in my project! I didn’t even tell the Shop Class teacher why. I simply took the failing grade and moved on. Later, I saw the boy during recess with the hammer I had made. He was bragging about the fact that he had taken it from some white kid and turned it in to his Shop Class teacher and had gotten an ‘A.’

I hated those boys! But I didn’t hate them for the color of their skin. I hated them for the content of their character. And I believe that life has punished those boys much more severely than I could ever have!

But I still take satisfaction in the fact that my hammer got an “A!”

I am Kip Addotta