The Land of Lincoln…and Obama

The road trip kicked off with a show in Galesburg, IL.  I had to tinkle and make a dirty pretty bad when I pulled in the hotel.  I got the cards for my room, but only after five minutes were spent looking for what name the reservation was under and a conversation about the show, which the employee was not attending, of course.  As fate would have it, my room was at the end of the hallway on the top floor…and my cards didn’t work.  I ran back down, only to find the guy on the phone.  This horrible bitch was complaining the rate was $20 higher, b/c of the festival in town this week.  Five more minutes…now I’m crowning and my bladder is stretched tighter than Joan Rivers’ face.  Supply and demand, bitch, get off the phone.  It’s amazing how your body is like, “I have to go.”  Then you get out of the car and it says, “You’re on the clock until accident time.”  I never want to get old.

The room was good, except the light looked like the searchlights from the original Batman.  I could only see an old couple and the front four people.  I forgot to see what time I actually went on and panic set in as I didn’t want to short the show.  Well, I overcompensated and did a cool 45 minutes, which pissed off the headliner (rightly so).  I hate when comics go over their time.  I did a show once where the stupid emcee did five minutes b/w every comic and made a bad show 30 minutes too long.  I did, of course, tell him I would kick his ass (he was small and I was pissed) if he did five minutes before bringing me up.  He must have been scared, as he did only four and half instead, that son of a bitch.

I can tell I smashed a home run, b/c I sold one DVD after the show.  Good things come to those who wait!  I bought a 12’er of Busch Light bottles with my fortunes, b/c I am a roller (my DVD sale didn’t cover the cost of the beer).  Since I am so famous, I’ll probably toss my TV out the window if and when the beer runs out (It’s bolted in, I can’t lift it).  I’m glad I told the hotel my name was David Hasselhoff to throw off the scent to all the groupies (there are no groupies but I stole a stale bagel from the breakfast bar, that’ll do).