You’re Everywhere, But You’re So Hard To Find

Have you ever fantasized about a woman who has an American doll costume in her role playing menagerie? Have you ever thought razor sharp wit and drunken buffoonery are a super sexy combo? Do you look like a little like this guy? Then sidle up and spend a few minutes with this week's guest reviewatrix, Rassles. She'll organize your drunk choo-choo party, or best you with her Live Band Karaoke. Then if you're really good, she'll make you some of Chicagoland's best stroganoff, what what. -Miss Missives

Okay, so sometimes you have a coworker, and she’s all like, trying to set you up with a guy she’s friends with because he’s “totally funny” and her “face hurt from laughing so hard” and you’re thinking, “Finally, someone with which to create a comedic duo that would rival Nichols and May,” but then you meet him he’s kind of cautious, and sometimes savvy, but not the raucous laugh factory you expected, so instead of hitting it off with an amusing guy you’re all shattered and grumpy and forlorn and get really, really drunk to make up for it.

That’s kind of how I feel about Free the Unicorns. And I mean, sure, technically the preceding story in no way relates to why I’m reviewing a blog today, but fucking whatever.

This is a comedy blog. Chowner is a man who wants to be very, very clever. And sometimes he is, really, but unfortunately, the skill is usually buried in posts that are exhausting in simplicity, or full of overused pop culture commentary and an abundance of obvious lines that were funny when I was twelve.

Still, you’re lucky, because I’m currently undergoing a second adolescence.

His writing is intentionally distancing and sarcastic, which I have no problem with, because he’s not obnoxious about it. There’s a thin line separating satire from sadism, and he doesn’t cross it. Still, if you’re looking for a blog bleeding personal details, you won’t find it here. This blog is like the auxiliary gym for C-Team at The Onion, or Something Awful’s slightly annoying but surprisingly engaging and informed little brother. You won’t find thought-provoking exhibitions on the human condition, and sometimes the humor is recycled and obvious, but there’s this artful wit lurking in the corners that makes me want him to be hilarious.

Chowner, in nearly every post, your last line is the best line, especially with the dialogue posts. But if your goal is banter: watch your pacing. Clip things down, because you’re dragging your rhetoric throughout the middle of the posts. The bitch of it is, if you cut out half of the crap, focus on the title and the last several lines you crank out, we’ll find prowess in your restraint.*

Your lists are strong, and some are downright crazy awesome, but I’m partial to lists, and I feel like this is where your personality inches closer to your readers. I know you’re not journaling here, in fact it feels like you’re building up a little comedic resume for that McSweeney’s submission, but slipping in little cubes of you will give your humor more edge and less monotony. Own your fucking jokes, personalize them, spit ‘til they shine. And I want to hear more about your failing one-man crusade for Unicorn Freedom, because somewhere in your past you had to have some conversation of hilarity to inspire such temerity.

The template is simple and has a horny pony, so you know. Win.

Using my unparalleled powers of inference, I have determined that Chowner is male, married to Sydney Bristow, and Canadian. I’m like motherfuckin’ Encyclopedia Brown. Give us an “About Me” page or I’ll find you and shave off your eyebrows in your sleep. And if you think that’s a hollow threat, I can introduce you to a Schick Quattro and a pair of fisticuffs aching to attest to my resolve.

Next, post your archives. I know you’ve only been writing since September, but I still want to hit up your past posts because I am nosy, and I hate clicking “Older Entries” over and over and over again. Oh, and just don’t do that continuing post bullshit, because it’s irksome, and you know…Razors and Fisticuffs: The Fucking Sequel.

Seriously, Chowner, you’ve got some gold: don’t make us bitches dig for it.

For being funny and pissing me off about it, I give you






And for making me go all Philip Marlowe on trying to find out who you were and whether or not you were funny, you get this:







*As I’m writing this, I want nothing more than to go back to my own blog and cut all of my posts in goddamn half, just to prove a point.