I was visiting customers in Miami and saw this. 

You’d think it’s just a nickname, but this chick came out and looked at my car, then busted out a big floppy penis!

C’mon Miami, fool me twice!

Wish me luck tonight for my performance at the world famous Ft. Lauderdale Improv at the Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, FL.

I will be mostly pitching Extra Virgin Olive Oil:

Read here:

http://neldeezy.tumblr.com/post/17977695767/how-i-lost-my-virginity-extra-virgin-olive-oil

“Damn, my nose is killing me today for some reason.”

Comedian Nelio Cuomo Costa at the South Beach Comedy Festival

See him tomorrow at the Ft. Lauderdale Hard Rock Improv at 7pm where he’ll talk about things you already read on Neldeezy.com!

Like him on Facebook here:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Nelio/218652544824256

For a week while in college, I visited the country of my mother’s ancestors.

The beauty, culture, and food of Italy cannot be matched anywhere in the universe, I laugh in the face of brick oven pizza purveyors around South Beach who claim to serve “authentic Neapolitan cuisine.”

My trips’ days and afternoons were filled with museums, moderate drug use, and carbohydrates.

Its nights, accompanied by two of my dorm mates, were filled with seedy bars, absinthe, heavy drug use, and copious amounts of flirting with the opposite sex.

The problem was that, without fail, we met girls from Chicago every single night for the first nine days of our trip.

I didn’t travel to Italy, to just flirt with some fake guidette wannabe Italians (I had my fair share waiting for me back home).

 I wanted to couple with real beautiful Italian women (Hygiene aside).

One of the last nights we were there, I decreed we were going to find these REAL women by trolling around the REAL Rome.

The ROB ME Rome.

The Rome without Bidets.

The Rome that would make Caesar Augustus cry out in shame/pleasure.

We were three American boys walking through the bad parts of Rome, with a chip on our shoulders and an X-Rated goal in our hearts.

Amazingly, an old man wearing a suit and a bowtie appears seemingly out of the shadows and greets us casually. 

Apparently God (or more likely the Devil) had materialized this geriatric traveler of time and space to facilitate our adolescent hunger for a Mediterranean goddess.

With a sideways grin and no distinguishable accent, he stated,

“You boys look like you want some fun, follow me.”

We were ecstatic.

Only great things can happen when you follow a mysterious old man:

That’s how I got my first bicycle,

and my first sexual experience…

We begin to follow.

He takes us to what looks like a bar, but with no signs or literature outside saying it was.

A flap opened in the door, and a man peers out to the street.

I was half expecting him to tell us that The Wizard of Oz can’t see us today, and that we’d be forced to drink absinthe until passing out in an alley for the fourth night in a row.

No words were spoken but the man in the bar let us in.

Upon entry, I had realized my prayers had been fulfilled.

Twelve gorgeous, classy looking, middle aged women were proportionately scattered throughout the place.

Not a single man in sight, except for my two dorm mates and the bow tied Demon/Angel who sauntered towards the back of the bar.

We had hit the jackpot.

As we giddily shook in anticipation, we all collectively realized that “high fiving” and “screaming in joy” was making us look like the young college tourists we were and surely was blowing any chance of laying in bed with a middle aged sexual dynamo born in one of the oldest Republics known to man.

Trying to seem mature and cool, I order a classy drink for me and my cohorts,

Give her my debit card, because I figured we’d be buying a few drinks for the ladies as we introduced ourselves.

When I received the bill, each drink was 150 Euros

Which is like $225 American…

Why did I order a White Russian?

Is there a milk shortage in Rome?

Were they jacking us because we were stupid tourists from Chicago?

I sat there looking at the bill and cursing myself for ever watching “The Big Lebowski!”

Why do I have all these stupid ideas?

 The female bartender saw my shock and slides up next to me,

She quietly and seductively whispers in my ear,

“Which girl do you want? 

I give her a blank stare, trying to calculate a perfect answer, while wanting desperately to scream out,

“ALL OF THEM!”

While I was stumbling with the thought, she spoke again.

“For one drink, you can have sex with one of the girls, but for anal or something weird, you need to buy another drink.”

I finally realized what kind of establishment I was at…

So I went to buy a double vodka and cranberry.

Suddenly the most expensive drink I’d ever purchased became one of the best values in Europe!

My dorm mate suddenly jumps in with a realization, blurting out.

“Dude, I think this place is a whorehouse.”

I was way ahead of him at that point, and acted confused.

He furrowed his brow in disgust,

“Do we look like guys who need to pay for sex?”

Almost too quickly, I answered him.

“Yes.  I look like a guy who needs to pay for sex.”

He placed his drink on the bar and motioned for us to leave, my first thought being,

“Fine, two more for me.”

As they moved towards the door, my second thought was,

“I live in a dorm with these guys.”

This story was surely going to be recounted to the residents of my dorm probably for months and possibly years to come, and the last thing I wanted was for the end of the story to be,

“Yeah, me and Dan left, but Nelio bought the whole bar a round of Irish Car Bombs and went to town on every hooker in a thirty foot radius.”

Girls who were already hesitant to get near my crotch would have the final reason to stop hooking up with me, especially since it’s what their subconscious had been telling them the entire time.

It was hard enough for me to get laid in college without being labeled

“That Prostitute Guy.”

So I left with my crew, smiling and nodding at each beautiful and distinguished prostitute face.  The things those women could have taught me.

I did manage to get “450 Euros” in “store credit” if I ever find myself in Rome and wishing for a mysterious old man in a bowtie to save me from the prison of rules called western society.

Thanks so much for reading please like my Comedian Facebook Page:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Nelio/218652544824256

and message me for free tickets for my performance at the Hard Rock Improv in Ft. Lauderdale on March 7th

Ten years ago, I had sex for the first time. 

After all this time, I still remain completely clueless on how to please a woman.

My partner was a gorgeous (out of my league, which isn’t hard) sixteen year old and I was head over heels in love.  Like murder suicide kind of in love.

Probably the last sixteen year-old I’m ever going to have sex with.

Probably.

My parents would let her sleep in my room, in my bed, almost every single night and not say a thing.

I thought they were naive, or stupid, but they just figured it was the best I ever was going to get, and they were right.

Her and I were catholic, so we had an incredible amount of guilt about having sex, so for the first six months we’d pretend to be sleeping and just dry-hump for hours.  Probably so we could maintain plausible deny-ability.

Now, dry-humping is fine for a girl, but prolonged rubbing, over clothes in the pelvic region is hell on Earth for a guy.  If you ever wonder why a guy’s penis has a crazy amount of curve towards his torso, he’s spent most of his youth dry-humping adolescent girls in terror.

I got a girlfriend and suddenly orgasm WAY LESS.

And I was the idiot, because it took me three months before I started wearing sweatpants, I was wearing JEANS the entire time.

The sound of denim rubbing up next to each other still cause me to scream in terror.

To this day, I have a zipper scar on my scrotum that says DKNY.

Luckily, it’s over the part of your balls that looks like it’s been sewn together with a needle and thread.  What’s with that?

God needed a needle and thread to keep your testicles inside your body?  It’s so weird.

Everyone else has that, right?  It wasn’t some sort of accident my parents never told me about?

So after six months of dryhumping, we finally decide to have sex.  But under one condition.

She still wanted to be a virgin for God…

so we had to have sex in her ass.

…

Which was fine for me, I was just glad that the catholic faith had such an amazing loophole (and what a hole).

God doesn’t see anal sex.

…

Which means Jerry Sandusky is going straight to heaven.

The logic of the situation had almost exploded my mind, but I really wanted to lose my virginity so I wasn’t about to start arguing with her.

I was experimenting with lubrication for years already by myself and I had nothing in my room that would facilitate her request.

So at 3am in the morning, I tip-toed to the kitchen looking for a lubricant to dissolve my v-card.  Having no time to lose, I was completely nude, and with a bouncing erection that was stealing most of the blood originally allotted for my brain.

Opening the fridge, I saw a container of cake frosting.

Cake frosting would’ve worked perfectly, but the only flavor my parents had bought was chocolate.

Visually speaking, having anal sex with chocolate frosting..

Not what I was going for (at least for the first time.)

At this point, I was almost ready to just pass out out of sexual frustration, when I remembered.

We had a big can of olive oil underneath my sink.

So I grab a cereal bowl, because I wasn’t just going to poor the olive oil into her anal cavity like she’s a Mazda Miata.  I had a deep love and respect for her, I wanted it to be as beautiful a moment as possible, and me on both of my knees, pouring copious amounts of olive oil into her anus would not be characterized as a “beautiful moment.”

I reach under my sink, and I get a message from god:

“Extra Virgin” Olive Oil.

How right they were.

As I turned back to my room to finally lose my virginity.

My mother was standing at the doorway, she had seen the whole thing.

Check out my standup act if I’m ever near you, and like my new page:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Nelio/218652544824256

‘Then something astonishing happened. One day, early in the morning, thin columns of white smoke were seen to be coming out of the tops of the tall chimneys of the factory! People in the town stopped and stared. “What’s going on?” they cried. “Someone’s lit the furnaces! Mr Wonka must be opening up again!”

One of the greatest coaches of all-time, Mr. Joe Paterno, passed away today. I have some mixed emotions of course. Football is kind of like my religion, and if millions of Catholics can forgive hundreds of priests…

Here is a short joke I made at the expense of Joe Pa.

Got crazy at Redbar last month.

“Everyone is getting crazy about December 2012, people are building shelters.

But I’m not 100% we should be taking spiritual direction from ancient Mexicans.  I mean, I’m hispanic, we’re full of shit.  Google is our worst enemy.

Let me know when the Germans predict the apocalypse, I’ll stop paying my mortgage today.”

Nelio Cuomo Costa, Terrible Stand-Up Comedian

NelioCosta.com

“Parade.  I’d rather have Aids.”

and I remembered I was watching an extremely boring parade and this was how I was going to remember the dream.

But what kind of fucked up statement is that?

But it’s true, parades fucking suck.  It’s more fun to look outside at the street when no parade is going on.  On my street, you can watch a crackhead smoke crack and shake uncontrollably.  Way more fun than watching a parade.

Now, last night I went to a club and their was a rumor that a dude had an Aids infected needle and was going to poke somebody.  I’m not exactly sure why we stayed in the club, but the first thing I thought was,

“I’d watch fifty fucking parades before I got stuck with that motherfucking needle.  Fuck that.”

ACT I

It’s the future on the newly renamed Planet Apple, in the Nation of TwitFace, where the surveillance of Youtube and where everyone prays to Google.  Day long sessions of Social Media are mandatory and moderated.  Each member must provide the most clever statements in hopes of gaining followers.  Those that do not participate are sent to be alone forever on MySpace.

This is one eventful Social Media Session where one boy, Mac, attempts an escape.

The Moderator

Taylor

Morgan

Jeremy

Kara

Andrew

The cast generally stands in spaced out semi-circle with exception of the Moderator.  When speaking in Social Media, they’re fake and lifeless people saying things just to be heard.  When they break from that, noticeable emotions are used.

and so lets begin.  Thanks in advance to Twitter, Facebook, and Social Networking in general, because without you I’d be Alone Among Star Wars DVDs.

Also a thanks to the JPB Theater Company and their great actors for performing this.

Farrah

There was a piece of chocolate cake in the fridge and a note that read, “Don’t Eat Me.”  Now there’s an empty plate and a note that says, “Don’t Tell me What to Do.”

MAC

Lol

Taylor

Plus One

Biff

I went to donate blood today but they said they didn’t want it in a sandwich bag, and it had to be mine.

ALANA

Z-O-M-G

FARRAH

Like

Taylor

My mother asked me if I was sexually active, and I said, “No, I just lie there.”

Biff

Plus One!

Alana

Like

Mac

What?  Do you mean that?

THE MODERATOR

User MAC, I’ve disabled comments for the day.  Pay attention to the Terms of Service!

Alana

War is never the answer. Unless the question is “What’s never the answer?”

FARRAH

Like

The Moderator very suddenly and (loudly and in a drawn out and prolonged fashion) dies.  No one reacts but MAC.

MAC

Oh my god, he’s dead.  The moderator is dead.  No one can enforce our user agreements.

TAYLOR

O-M-G.

BIFF

L-O-L

MAC

We’re free.  We can be human again.

TAYLOR

“I’m such a dirty, dirty girl” sounds a lot better than “Too lazy to shower.”

FARRAH

Like

Alana

Plus One

MAC

Wake Up!

the group are all blankly staring forward, Mac walks in between them, trying to shake them from there trance.

You guys are zombies, we can finally leave.

Wake Up!

He slaps ALANA across the face.

Alana

You’re the dead one.

they circle first slowly around the moderator’s body, gaining speed until they chase around the other social media members.  ALANA changes direction and tackles MAC to the floor.

Who the hell taught you that it’s okay to hit a woman?

she repeatedly slaps MAC uncontrollably until TAYLOR yells

TAYLOR

Stop!

FARRAH

OMG

BIFF

Dislike

Mac runs over to Taylor and leaves ALANA on the floor.

FARRAH

How long do I have to be ignorant before I start experiencing bliss?

BIFF

Plus One

MAC

I adore you.  I can finally say it, with every part of my body and soul, I adore the ground you walk upon.

TAYLOR

OMG

MAC

Your hips and your eyes, and the way you moan when I…

BIFF

Dislike.

TAYLOR

Mac, you can’t say these things.  Youtube could be anywhere, and if they hear you, you’ll certainly be sent to…

ALANA

That which cannot be named.

MAC

I’m not afraid of going to..  MySpace…

TAYLOR, AlANA, BIFF, and FARRAH

No!!!!! YOU SAID THE FORBIDDEN WORD!  Isolation.  Isolation.

MAC

Taylor, look at me.  Feel the warmth of my hands, be human again with me.

BIFF

If you have a parrot and you don’t teach it to say, “Help, they’ve turned me into a parrot”, you are wasting everybody’s time.

FARRAH

Like

TAYLOR

I feel it too, Mac…

ALANA

I suspect the number 200 sometimes impersonates the word ZOO.

FARRAH

Like

MAC

Stop it!  Everybody just stop it!

ALANA

breaking from her monotonous comedic remarks

When they throw you to “you know where,” I swear to Google that I won’t do a damn thing.

MAC

Our bodies are flesh and bone.

TAYLOR

and what a bone.

FARRAH

Like

ALANA

Gross.

FARRAH

First time I ever saw a dry-erase board I said “that’s remarkable.”

BIFF

Like

TAYLOR

Will you two just quit it. Nobody is listening anymore.

FARRAH

jumps out of her trance and is outraged

Google is listening!  Google is always listening. 

MAC

Riiiiight.  He’s sees you when you’re sleeping he knows when you’re awake.

FARRAH

Don’t mock my Google.  And besides, it’s obvious that a cosmic entity with all the answers is most certainly a female. 

The moderator is dead, we must follow the Terms of Service protocol.  Go!

ALANA

The moderator can kill two stones with one bird.

BIFF

The moderator doesn’t mow his lawn, he stands outside and dares it to grow.

FARRAH

The moderator can slam a revolving door.

MAC

The moderator is a royal douchebag who helps TwitFace-Plus trap 90 percent of the population on Planet Apple.  I for one, will no longer be a prisoner in the isolation.

TAYLOR

and together we’ll have twenty little children.

MAC

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

FARRAH

Isolation, in what?  In our social networking?

BIFF

What do we want? TIME TRAVEL! When do we want it? THAT’S IRRELEVANT!

MAC

It’s all over.  The hidden message board had fortold the death of the moderator.  Among… other… things…  Changes.  Going back to the way it was. 

We’ll be free again.

FARRAH

The forbidden message board!  Got you weirdo!

TAYLOR, ALANA, BIFF, AND FARRAH

We are not to speak of or post on any forbidden message boards.

FARRAH

I knew you were one of those creepers and pedophiles trolling the late night rooms for adult themes.  Get him!

Biff tackles MAC and a melee ensues.  Lights flash and smoke fills the stage,  All of the cast turn on MAC and strap him into a chair.  They stand behind him.  The moderator then slowly gets up and while laughing stands in front of MAC.

MAC

Oh my Google, you were dead, you are dead.  No!

THE MODERATOR

User Mac 221, Youtube had been surveiling you for the good part of 3 Twitter trending periods.  Power user Farrah devised a plot to catch you.  She’ll be rewarded 5k followers for her efforts.

MAC

But Taylor…

TAYLOR

One time I was checking out this really hot guy and he paid me for it because I was a grocery store cashier.

MAC

And twenty kids?

TAYLOR

I wish I wouldn’t have to raise my kids in an era where mediocrity was celebrated.

THE MODERATOR

The Internet is not a priviledge User Mac.  It’s a duty, and it’s your duty to make funny status messages and tweets so more and more people follow you.

MAC

I don’t want to be clever, if everyone’s cleverly the same, we might as well be one person.

THE MODERATOR

And with one mind we can finally reach our potential as a planet, Mac.

ALANA

Drug dealing is a great occupation because if it doesn’t work out, you can always tutor children in fractions.

BIFF

Like

MAC

I would’ve laughed at that.  But it’s not funny to me anymore.  I’m alone, I’m alone among friends, all day every day.  How do you expect us to live like this?

BIFF

Before Facebook, I had told maybe six people “Happy Birthday,” ever.

THE MODERATOR

The next train in the server will be to MySpace.  May Google have mercy on your soul.

MAC walks slowly and dejected across the stage, he turns back.  Taylor runs up to him.  They stare into each others eyes for a moment.

MAC

i never dreamed that little pictures on a screen would feel like friends… yet here i am.

Androids and Zombies

An excerpt from the unfinished

By Nelio Cuomo Costa

“Our masters have found a way to make us uniquely the same. 

Be different.  Get a nose ring, and a tattoo, and dye your hair, be unique, call your music alternative, prejudge blindly while claiming equality.  Just like everybody else.”

Donovan put down his joint and looked up at the glowing tablet, Candidate H2 was evading another question.  H2 began to point menacingly at the crowd, that the United States must stay the course.

 A mix of the smoke and not having eaten in a day made him aware he was getting hungry again.

“Darling, all I see is two androids dancing on a stage, while the zombies yell amongst themselves, so we forget our society is dead.  I wake up sick from  the hunger, and overpopulation, the disease, leaving sores on all of our faces.”

Lorraine anxiously covers her cold sore, unsure if Donovan is speaking figuratively.

“The dualism will never stop, and the rest of the zombies inch closer and closer to having one vision.  When we ask the wrong questions, we’re never heard.

That’s why we need to spill the blood of those who prison us in their system.”

He flailed his hands in front of her, startling her.

“Peace and love isn’t the answer because the masters refuse to fight fair.

They’ll tell the media to label us as child molesters and drug addicts, and they’ll show our crying mothers on their television asking “What went wrong?”

Their androids will ask why “we didn’t finish college?” and “why we didn’t just go and get good jobs like the rest of them?”

“Years ago they told us to be bankers and doctors, but the bankers stole, and the doctors sold their souls for the drugs.  Gone are the healers, and the mediators, and an economical system based on real things. 

We’re high as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore” 

The first smirk of the night crossed Lorraine’s face.  Donovan was serious.

“Why did we choose not to latch on to a dying system that no longer rewarded us for keeping our heads down and not asking “Why?”

But you, Lorraine, you’ll need to tell them the truth.  You need to let them know that all we ever wanted was a better life.”

Donovan reaches towards her, she recoils to his touch

“They’ll say we belong to Al-Queda, and they’ll link us to their very own atrocities, they’ll claim that we’re selling drugs to minors.

You know this because they’re going to ask you to write those stories.  They’ll flash it on the bottom of the news network and they’ll make flashy graphics so it sticks in our heads, but they’re liars Lorraine.”

Tears began streaming down Lorraine’s face.  He was ruining her high.  She held Donovan’s warm hand, probably for the last time.

“But he’s my boss.  You can’t do this.”

Singing Shit and Flashing Colors

Everybody is just getting fucked up

nothing intellectual

“Why do you think music is the way it is, or whatever?”

The kids stopped being creative.

“What caused it?

Ronald Reagan’s America, probably.

The idea of great wars have created a whole new cultural downfall.  Music used to be so powerful, but now a dude with a high powered Mac and a good voice can write some album and add it to the national bullshit lexican’t.

I feel like Aristotle, but after society’s modernity made it totally impossible to come to your own conclusions and impressions of things.  Everyone has done everything, we’re just fools sticking around in the same place as we were born.

- Cut your nails

- Get a job

- Don’t say crazy thing.

Are we educated enough to amuse ourselves?  I guess we’ll huff computer cleaner and get stoned enough to make it so, number one.

When will my country empower me again?

I guess we’re all just a bunch of American solo artists, but sometimes I’d like to play in a band of my peers.

My first solo song I’ve written and produced by myself in years.  The album is coming together and this is the second to last song, at this point, our protagonist is finally dumped by his cherished woman.

I dedicate this whole album to Angie Peters, a good friend of mine, who’s always been a fan of bullshit like this that I can’t stop writing.

Nelio Cuomo Costa - Christian Go Home

This is me very happy that Spain lost to Switzerland 1-0.  I retreated to my executive bathroom to take a cliche MySpace pic of myself.

I’m beginning to think that I might have time for a steady woman in my life, or maybe I’m just crazy.

Either way, totally down to “nut down your throat”

Someone reminded me of the old times in Chicago the other day.  Unfortunately, I don’t travel home as much anymore.

This picture was taken in a time period of my life I miss very much.  As you can see, I had a James Gandolfini thing going on.  Really worked for me, drank a lot of Jack Daniels, didn’t know where I was supposed to be in the world.

I used to hang around with a group of really cool city girls that seemed to have everything figured out while I languished into a mediocre existence striving in my life to put right what once went wrong, and always hoping that the next leap…  would be the leap…

home.