Year: 2011

I saw a story about a group that wants to ban Ronald McDonald.  In San Francisco, they’ve already banned toys from Happy Meals.  There are government lobbyists trying to ban bake sales and pizza days.  You could make tofu and broccoli the only menu choices and kids will be fat.  Why?  A lot of reasons.  Believe it or not, some people are endomorphs, which means they’re bigger genetically.  Banning a creepy clown will probably encourage kids to suck down Happy Meals.  Plus, any of you do gooders ever hear of the Ronald McDonald House?  Worldwide charity, backed by the “evil” McDonald’s that provides housing at no cost for parents of chronically ill kids?  How about you moron schools quit banning recess and gym for tolerance class and self esteem planning?

This country is being turned into pussies.  You get gold stars for C+ papers and trophies in sports.  Every team, even the team that gets last.  Good lesson for Junior, since life kicks you in the nuts and steals your wallet.  I got grounded for a C on a midterm and I told my parents (I didn’t call them by their first name, btw) that I was being treated unfairly.  Their response was that my standard was higher and they confiscated my NES for six weeks.  In reflection, they knew I was a pure genius that I needed a kick in the ass.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t reach me after puberty and I never learned another lesson ever…but as for kids under ten, spare the NES ban, spoil the shitbag kid.

All this said, I want to have a kid (boy) to train into my evil minion.  I will brainwash (teach!) him into a cold and heartless being to conquer the weak and fickle world.  Yes, do my bidding, offspring…together we shall rule.  Or you will step on enough dreams to let me retire rich, since Social Security is going bankrupt on my 57th birthday.  Either way, I think my intentions are pure and by pure, I mean the self absorbed babblings of a madman.

Here’s a pic from just before my show in Morgantown.  Pictured is the pregnant chick who fired up a heater halfway into my set.  I wanted to say something, but then realized I was in the minority, since no one else batted an eye.  Plus, she was laughing at my jokes really hard and laughter is the best medicine.  Maybe not for fetus lung cancer, but I’m no doctor.  Not pictured is the asexual, amorphous genderless man/lady to my exteme right.  She had the longest ass I’d ever seen.  It started just below the shoulder blades and continued to about mid-hammy.  It was a sight to see, but it’s kind of hard to discretely take a flash pic in a dark bar.  “Excuse me, Pat from Saturday Night Live, can I get a quick shot of your two foot long backside?”  The check cleared and I sold one shirt afterwards.  I clearly picked the correct career path.

Complaining is as natural to humans as breathing.  The “poor” in this country have big screen TV’s, A/C, Xbox 360’s and iPhones, plus vehicles and internet.  I try to be above it, but I am guilty too.  I was talking to a guy about my upcoming three state trip that is going to cover 1600 miles and take five days, but I’m the one who signed up for it.  Complaints negated.  Me complaining about taking paid work is like someone bitching that their free meal was too filling.  There are legitimate ones though…like my last show where, for some reason, my resume was on the board for the show.  It was my comedy resume from 2008, not meant for public viewing, yet it was sent to the club – complete with my home address, email, and phone #.  Even more disheartening was how embarrassingly empty it was.  At that point I had been doing comedy for about 16 months and I claimed such credentials as “Interviewed by several newspapers, including the Zanesville Times Recorder.”  What moron would look at that and say, “Ooooo!  I must put this master of comedy in my rotation!  He’s been interviewed by a newspaper once from a town of 27,000 people!”  Reminder to myself: RESEND CORRECT BIO INFO TO ALL BOOKERS TODAY.

Last night I went out w/ to a bar w/ some pals and they had a punching bag machine at the bar.  I wasted a couple bucks to hurt my arm, but I put up 921 lbs. of punching power into the obviously well constructed machine.  The record was 934.  Obvious cheating, b/c I am pretty much a superhuman.  Where the problem came was the rest of the night all I could think about is what my mighty right hand could do to others.  I looked at a 275 lb. country looking hoss and just imagined unloading on him.  I’m pretty sure he is in bad shape in virtual fight world.  Then I gazed over at a 5′ 2″ Snooki looking chick.  Inner thought: “She would probably die.  Not that I would ever hit a woman, but if she pulls a gun, GAME OVER.”  I am insane.  This is why I don’t go out much anymore.

1. Any stage time early is great.  Once you get your act down, some open mikes are useless.  If you do a show where there are six people who aren’t paying attention, you’re not building your act, you’re building rage issues and alcoholism.

2. The out of towner/guy who claims he’s a big deal elsewhere is full of shit.  When I started, two guys come to mind.  One said he was on the Tonight Show and everyone believed him.  I pressed him on details and he had none.  He couldn’t tell me when it was, how much he was paid, or who else was on the show.  Another guy said he was Richard Pryor’s son.  Guess what, ass clown?  If you’re not funny, you could be Jesus Jr. and I still think you suck.

3. Emcees who do five minutes between every comic at a 25 person open mike are evil.  I have things to do and there are four people in the crowd.  Move it along.

4. If you have less than ten minutes of jokes, don’t bitch about not getting paid.  Who books people for six minutes of jokes?

5. If you’re funny when your friends show up and think you’re awesome…do a show when they quit coming.  New comics that bring a ton of friends are like old movies of early aviation.  Sure, they get off the ground, but just wait for it…the crash is coming soon, cowboy.

I believe in charity.  Charity is good.  That said, I had a disturbing incident today I have to talk about.  I still a have a “real” job and this happened Tuesday.  A lady at a non-profit organization called me and here is our conversation, edited for time and interest.  Lady: “We need you to send this material to your customer so they can make our product, but you need to give the stuff free.” (Side note: This lady has never talked to my company before and I can’t sell to end users)  Me: “Well, I can discount it and even ship it free, but I can’t take a loss, that’s our policy b/c we get so many requests for free materials and we can’t verify the sources or afford to give the stuff away.”  Lady:  “Well, if you don’t give it to our organization for free, I will call your customers and tell them what you are doing to us and you will lose business.”  Eh?  “Ma’am, are you blackmailing our company?”  “Well, you know what you have to do.”  Click.  I got mafiosoed by a non-profit health issue based company and I feel less confident in humanity.

I hate tattletales, but I am strongly tempted to call this monster’s boss and report this, even though I am so against that act.  Imagine Girl Scouts planting sex offender fliers up in your neighborhood if you don’t buy Thin Mints.  As a comic I get asked to do benefit shows all the time, which I mostly do, if they’re worth a damn.  The only one I ever turned down was one 110 miles from my house, no gas money paid, to raise money for war protestors to go to Washington.  Use your van and your gas money morons, I’ll save the jokes for cancer bennies.  I am still debating calling this chick back, but my temper is so awful, it may not be a good plan.  I tend to overreact and break things…like office phones and the basic human spirit.  I’m like the Incredible Hulk, except less green and more saavy with a VOIP phone system.