Year: 2011

I’m not old yet, but some things are getting to me.  The best thing I ever heard was my buddy said, “Getting old sucks.”  Another guy, older, at the bar said, “You’re not old!”  My buddy replied, “Well this is the oldest I’ve ever been, so suck it.”  That puts it into perspective.

I only (so far) lament two things.  I am going blind and it is an inevitable fact, I will have a nasty bald spot.  Knees hurt?  I can deal with that.  Harder to shake the fast food lbs.?  No problem.  Can’t sleep well?  Whatever, sleep is for the weak.  Dribble after peeing?  OK, that sucks too.  What in the name of God is that all about?  I need a zip tie sometimes.

Seriously, though, my eyesight is fading faster than Lindsay Lohan’s career.  Five years ago, I could read anything.  Now, I can’t read texts on my phone or menus without a light source.  I have to wear reading glasses when I get online.  Plus, my hair is thick, wavy, and awesome.  I checked the mirror the other day and realized I have about two years at most and I have a serious problem.  Look at my picture!  I can’t have hair like that with a shining sun of scalp just hanging around, eating up my dignity.  Ironically, my ass is hairier than a grizzly’s chest.  Thus my high school nickname, “The Bear.”  The human body sucks.

I went to the Newport Funny Bone (Cincy) to see my buddy Anthony O’Connell emcee the late show Friday.  It’s kind of weird as a comic to have the weekend off.  It’s cool, but you’re pissed that you’re not getting paid.  Yay, I’m free!  Oh wait, I’m in my 30’s and nothing is going on…

I was standing near the bar, b/c the room wasn’t yet open.  A group of three chicks and a dude walked over.  The ringleader grabbed my drink, not even hand on side, but full on top grab, like a claw game at the arcade and moved it.  They then muscled me into the corner, mostly due to fatness, not rudeness, but cornered nonetheless.  I then watched as they paid for drinks w/ gift certificates and didn’t tip.  The guy bitched about the two drink min, even though he got in free.  Then he bitched that the show started at 10:30.  I looked at my watch – it was 9:54.  How dare the show not start the exact instant he walked in?

The animals decided, when Anthony got onstage, that they would continue their converstations unabated instead of, I don’t know, watching the fucking show.  This really insuffurable mess in the front yelled three times until Ant told her that her time was over, it was his time.  She then tried to talk to him as he was walking off, saying, “I helped you out!”  No you didn’t.  If you want to help, wear all black and go jogging on the freeway in an hour.

Even worse was this loud idiot to my left.  She decided to repeat whatever was said on stage.  Comic: “I don’t like bill collectors, man.”  Idiot: “Oh shit!  I don’t like bill collectors either!”  Comic: “That guy was a super douche.”  Idiot: “Oh shit!  She said super douche!”  After 45 minutes of this, I thanked God I haven’t got my conceal and carry yet.  I really do hate most people and sadly, I wasn’t even performing…

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.