What the Feck is Wrong with David Blaine?

Okay, I get it, David Blaine is trying to be the next Houdini.  The problem is Houdini was not a human of the modern age.  He was a man who wore a full body leotard as a bathing suit without even a note of humor in it.  That’s what the men of the time did.  There wore crazy, full bodied bathing suits and top hats.  I’m guessing the car was just starting up.  There was very little television.  (…probably none, can you tell I’m not willing to do a google search for this piece?)  So, yes, BLOODY, OF COURSE, a magician was interesting.  People were bored sh*tless.


But, now there’s Breaking Bad, for feck sake.  There’s Hulu.  There’s Netflix.


So, David, stop electrocuting yourself (under the corporate sponsorship of Intel, of course) for entertainment-sport, as I understand your next stunt to be.  We don’t feckin’ need it anymore.  Even a child can amuse themselves with a gameboy!  You don’t need to stick an apparatus down your throat to see if it can bypass your lungs and help you to oxygenate your blood like a fish; all so you can preform the world’s longest ‘hold your breath underwater moment’ on Oprah.  No! It’s not necessary for you to do anymore because I have the feckin’ internet.  I can entertain myself for hours without you having to go to the hospital.


I can send an email or research any genus of slug in under 10 seconds.  That’s feckin’ magic.


What you’re doing is cray-cray.  I fear that you will not stop until you are dead.


I swear, I don’t get it.


I went to an amusement park as a child once.  A few of my cousins wanted to go up into the big, loopy, roller coaster.  They said, “Are you coming?”  And I said, “No.”  My one cousin looked at me and said, “But, I thought you were fearless.”  I said, “I feckin’ am, but I don’t need to prove it to you by riding on a sh*tty roller-coaster!  I mean, you know who controls those things?  Carnies.  And Carnies are synonymous with drunks.  So, if you want to get into a barely inspected, crash mobile, with Drunky McDrunkenstein at the wheel, well, that’s on you.  I’m going to stay here and eat some popcorn.  Alive.  The way I like it.”


Wifesy has gone skydiving.  I have no desire to do it.  I’ve done other things.  Cliff jumping, took a ride in a glider, took some military helicopter rides, etc.  But, I won’t do two things – skydiving or scuba diving.  Why?  Because I don’t feckin’ need to.  I have cable and a smartphone and a kindle.  There are 10,000 other ways I can “keep busy” and none of them involve dying.


But, no.  Not David, oh no.  Someone must’ve called David a “scaredy cat” once and clearly, he can’t feckin’ get over it.  He can’t feckin’ move on.  It’s unbelievable what he’s done.  I mean…


Let’s go over his resume, shall we?


  • Buried himself in a coffin for 7 days.  (I couldn’t even handle that shitty movie with Sandra Bullock, The Vanishing.)
  • Frozen in a block of ice for 63 hours  (After this stunt Blaine was taken to the hospital because he was undoubtedly going into shock.  It took him a month after the stunt, just to walk again.  I, on the other hand, can barely make it through a freezy headache brought on by a frozen drink of any kind.)
  • Standing atop a 22 inch wide pillar, 100 feet in the air for 35 hrs.  (Jumping down after his legs became week, Blaine suffered a concussion.  Sometimes I think about taking up the balance beam…and then I don’t.)
  • 44 days in a plastic box hanging near the Tower Bridge in London.  (Blaine had nothing, but 4 liters of water per day.  He lost 25% of his body weight.  He was taunted while he did this stunt.  Some a-hole flew a hamburger up next to his face.  His plastic box was pelted with eggs, lemons, and some major a-hole tried to spike his water supply with monkey urine.  Where in the feck does one even get monkey urine?  “Yes, Virginia, the world is filled with a-holes of every race and color imaginable.”  Personally, I survived 10 days on a juice fast, but wanted to kill everyone around me.  In all truth, I would’ve found that fecker with the hamburger and strangled him to death.)

Box is eerily the same size as my old, Manhattan, apartment. Ha, ha, he, he. I’m here all year.

  • Submerged himself in an 8 foot water sphere in Lincoln Center.  (Blaine comes short of breaking the world record for holding your breath here, but beats it later on.  I sometimes have trouble swimming under water from one end of the pool and back.  True story.)

I can’t even form words on an etch-a-sketch without being inside an aquarium…

  • Rotated on a gyroscope for 52 hrs near Times Square, escaped from handcuffs, and jumped down.  (I’m dizzy just sitting here.  To be honest, I try not to turn around too much at all.  It strains my neck.)
  • Hung upside down for 60 hrs above the ice skating rink in Central Park  (Every now and again I hang upside down in yoga class.  I see God after about 7 mins.  Apparently, that’s all I need.)

Yep, Trump even looks like an a-hole from this angle.

  • And now (in October), 3 days and 3 nights without sleep, standing on a platform, being jolted by electricity.  (I don’t even like static cling.  Not even a little bit.  In fact, I have a spray for it.)


Okay, is anyone else tired?  I’m glad David Blaine exists for the world.  But, I can honestly say, I’m so glad I’m not him.  I’m going to go and get myself a second cup of coffee right now without straining myself in any way.  And sometimes I like it like that.



There is a fantastic new post by BradtheComedian, over at Canadica, right now.  You should check it out when you have the time.



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blaine-box, blaine-sphere, blaine-trump,