Month: October 2011

Sometimes you hear things that you never forget, but no one else will ever hear.  Here’s a few that stick in my head…

I was at a party at a schoolmate’s house.  Her dad said to me and my buddies – “You can touch my daughter, but don’t touch my dog.”  Interestingly, I woke up to a guy having sex with his daughter on the couch next to mine.

I was standing behind two hilljacks at a country concert.  #1 – “Some guy just got tossed for pissing in the grass.  Another one for throwing marshmallows.”  #2 – “This shit never happened when we had a white president.”  Hope, change, and random mallowin’s!

A girl at a party – “I don’t use birth control.  I can’t get pregnant, I’m 36.”  Immune to STD’s also!  Amazing!

Gay guy to me at a party – “Ever had an orgasm without touching your penis?”  Me: “Yes, it was touching a vagina.”

I headlined a gig Tuesday night, one of the first legit headliner shows of my life.  Features do 25-35 minutes, h/l’s (yes, I’m using that) have to do 45-60 minutes.  The jump wasn’t bad for me, b/c I have the time.  The hard part?  Getting it to flow.  This weekend I will be rewriting my set, due to the fact I noticed the last few jokes are random topics.  I think one of the keys to doing stand-up that is most underrated is the art of putting a set together.

Example: You can’t do a joke about sex, then interject a clean joke about your aunt’s casserole.  It’s too random.  That’s what sucks about that much time – not the material, but getting a flow that fits and isn’t absurd.  The other thing that sucks is driving home on a Tuesday.  Yes, I did have to piss like a racehorse, but I was getting a little sleepy.  It was a stop light in Kenton, Ohio, I realized I had two plastic cups and a rag.  I fashioned a little trucker bomb to avoid losing ten minutes to stop.  That is how OCD I am about time…or how disgusting I am for pissing in my own car at up to 60 mph.  The challenge is cutting it off before spillage.  Try cutting off a stream mid-flow.  Worse than waterboarding.  I worked at a truck rental facility once and my co-worker had to clean out a double bunk condo sleeper.  He emerged, with gloves on (thank God), holding two frozen milk jugs full o’ urine.  Pissicles!  MMMMM!  Can I have one, grandma?

In synopsis – headlining is glamorous…until you realize you a pissing into an eight ounce plastic cup in your own car.  Hold on, it’s my agent – he said I’m going to be a big star!

People ask a lot if get nervous doing shows.  No, but occassionally my hands shake.  Nerves, DT’s (look it up), who knows?  The one thing, though, that plagues me, is the pre-show poo.  I always have to drop one before a show.  I was headlining Grumpy Dave’s in Bowling Green last night and my old nemesis, the BM hit me about 30 minutes beforehand.  I went into the surprisingly clean bathroom and some dick had booted the seat off.  I left, but unfortunately, my body did not recant its pledge to empty itself.

I finally went back in and did a wall sit to accomplish my goal.  I imagined the bowl was something the offending vandal loved dearly, like his iPod or face.  Well, I got through it, but I sure won’t be doing any squats this week in the gym.  Thanks, scumbag!

I played Laser Tag for the first time last weekend and no, I am not seven years old.  It was rather entertaining.  The place was clearly set up for kids, as the foul smell of cheap pizza hit me like a ton of bricks upon entering.  The first game was a six person free for all.  We were not to run or crouch, but rules are for the weak.  I ended winning and was drenched with sweat.  The fundamental flaw with this game became strikingly apparent, though.  You sneak up on someone, shoot them down, then they stare at you for four seconds until getting rebooted and murdering you (virtually).

Game two had about 34 participants, 24 of whom were about eight or younger.  We ran a nice sweeping operation to take a base, then found an eagle’s nest, where I laid waste to the young and feeble blue team.  My perch was shattered though, when a six year boy flanked me and shot me down.  The little cheater followed me around like a buzzard shooting me in the back for about four minutes until I yelled at him for cheating (rules are rules…OK, I’m a sore loser with a bad temper).  Some other kid started crying, clearly shell shocked at my group of assassins’ handiwork.  I racked up 90 kills (tags) to 50 deaths, most at the hands of the poorly raised ruffian I mentioned earlier.  I finished third, which was nice.  There is something sickly theraputic about shooting down rugrats, after being powerless to stop their misdeeds my whole life.  I remember a kid at Revco pulling things off shelves when I was 16, as his sloppy mother did nothing but curse at him and watch me pick up after him.  That kid is probably in jail now.  I also had to clean up puke after another one unloaded his chicken nuggets in aisle nine.  That’s not annoying when you make $4.35/hour.  Well, hooligans, this day was mine.  Now go eat your birthday cake and greasy, tasteless pizza while I dine upon the spoils of victory.

I did a show Saturday, last minute.  I had just got home from the day’s errands when my phone rang.  It was my pal, comedian Bob Cook.  He called me at 5:50 – the headliner for his show had just pulled out due to a death in the family.  Show was at eight, they needed me to sub in – 90 minutes away.  I showered and flew out the door, making it in at 7:30.  Pretty damn impressive, if I say so myself.  There was no one there.

Eventually, 12 people showed up and the manager was losing his mind, it was their first show ever.  A couple walked in when I was at the bar and he approached me, saying, “They’re thinking about watching the show…so can you…?”  Me: “Huh?”  Him: “You know, talk to them?”  This is going to be awkward…I told them Bob was great, dropped his credentials, and then stared at them with the “Aw, c’mon!” face.  They left.  (They came back later, the magic show across the street must have been less appealing).

Then I was asked to apologize that the headliner they came to see wasn’t there once I got up.  This is weird also.  “Sorry, everyone (all dozen of you), I’m not the guy.  Sorry to let you down with my mundane existence.”  Does a backup running back have to apologize if the starter gets hurt?  “Hey fanbase, I suck, but you’re stuck with my bag of shit skills.  Try to not kill yourselves.  Who’s excited for football?”

The show went well, all things considered, but these chicks asked me for free shirts after the show.  I was so defeated, I gave them shirts for beers if they promised to check out the site.  If they don’t, I wish a leprosy hex on them.  I must have been buzzing, b/c I will never do that again.  The balls on these broads…  Oh well, let’s hope the check clears or I may have get my conceal and carry next week.

I went to give blood Monday, less than five minutes after work.  It was a pain in the ass day, so my BP was a nice, low, workable 138/102.  Stage 2 Hypertension anyone?  So much for giving my super blood out.  I resolved to calm down, take it easy and give out a nice OMMMMMM for the week.

I volunteer (read: unpaid) as the Chairman of the Board of Governors for my beloved fraternity chapter.  This week, they are being removed from their house for $50,000 worth of repairs.  This is supposed to get my approval, but it didn’t.  They agreed to it.  I sent a nice, but concerned email to the college and received a venomous response saying if I cared/did more, this wouldn’t have happened.  Attack the guy who gives his free time!  OMMMMM!!!!  OMMMMMM!!!  Relax…

I then went to my unpaid volunteer position as president of my condo board.  I volunteered to do the newsletter two months ago, but didn’t complete it last time, b/c my computer doesn’t have Word.  I announced I had finished it (no one has done one for at least three years, btw) and two people made the “Holy shit, you actually did something!” face.  OMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!   OMMMMMM!!!!!!!!

When I was in college, my frat volunteered to help freshmen move in and this twat in the Career Services department just stood there and told me to pick up more heavy shit with her shrill commands.  She lifted nothing.  All day.  OMMMMMM!!!!  OOOh fuck this, I’m going to go beat up some Hare Krishnas ala Grand Theft Auto I.  All hail capitalism.  I am one more bad volunteer experience away from robbing the autism jar at the Sunoco checkout down the street.