I am not Jeff Green. Not by a longshot. But I am the world's foremost (and only) Jeff Green historian, and for years now I've been promising--nay, threatening--to break open my stash of vintage email from Ye Goode Olde Dayse and start deluging the Internet with ancient shtick. Warning: This stuff is mostly a) penis jokes and b) in-jokes that even those involved won't really get anymore. But no Jeff Green blog can be really be complete without it.
Today's nugget comes to us all the way from the twenty-first day of July, nineteen hundred and ninety-two A.D.
Jeff: I just got an error message on email saying that my internal system heap has been corrupted. Is this from eating at Lois's?
Me: Tonto might say that your internal system is heap corrupted.
Jeff: You know, Mr. Comedian, that we Native Americans don't take too kindly to Tonto jokes. My father, Runs Like a Girl, is head of the Sherman Oaks brance of AIM. So watch yourself, white man.
Me: You're not a Native American, you're a Naive American.
Jeff: Top 3 Reasons That Prove I'm a Native American:
1) Cigar store Indian based on my grandfather.
2) You call it corn; I call it maize.
3) Can put ear to the ground and hear Harry approaching.