Month: May 2012

Sometimes some strange things happen and this was the case a week ago last Friday.  I was asked to via this website’s contact form to try out for a commercial.  My first thought was, someone’s going to rob or rape me.  I’ve seen Deliverance.  I asked for more details and was sent a script.  A store locally wanted a local actor or comedian to try out for a 30 second spot.  I was skeptical, then I saw they paid well and what the hell.

The script casting called for a good looking (well, clearly I have that down), 30-35 year old male (nailed that), high energy (now I’m fucked) spokesman to interview the woman on the street.  Maybe it was the dozen beers, but I thought I had a shot.  I handwrote the script out, reviewed it about 20 times and went to sleep (passed out playing video games) with visions of Hollywood in my stupid brain.

I got to the tryout and quickly realized from stealing a glance that I was the only real comedian on the sheet.  Every other guy was a full blown actor.  The guy before was so hyper I thought his brain would hemmorage as he was pacing about the room.  I could hear his excited yelling and realized I was probably not their man.  Better count on the looks, that’s never let me down!

I walked in the room and spat out the script – almost perfectly word for word.  Then the director said, “You’re a comedian right?”  Yes…  “You’re probably pretty sarcastic onstage?  Low key?”  Yes…  “Well, I need you to step up the excitement!  Act like you just ran in here!”  At that point, I knew I was boned.  I tried, but soon the creeping realization that my excitement was limited to 1) furious rage and 2) extreme intoxication.  They asked me to impov and I froze up like a 14 year old boy seeing a naked girl for the first time.  I forgot 90% of the lines and walked out in shame.

After this experience, I realized the following – 1) Getting the script more than 16 hours in advance probably helps.  2) I need an acting class…or a mountain of cocaine to play high energy guy.  3) I need everyone else who trys out to die of bubonic plague.  Even then, it’s still probably 50/50.  Haven’t got that call yet…oh well, no talent worked for most of Hollywood.  Move over, Pauly Shore, there’s a new star in town!

I went back to my hometown for a night of boozing recently.  The bar was very small town – cash only, a jukebox, three TV’s, and attached to a drive thru.  Me and my pals were outside, communicating our deepest and most tender thoughts (calling each other pieces of shit) when the old drunk redneck showed up.  Then the fun began.

The old drunk redneck is the same everywhere you go: Loud, drunk (obviously), usually wearing no sleeves and extremely inappropriate.  Our friend didn’t let us down.  With every motorcycle or muscle car that passed the bar’s patio, and there were lots, he yelled either “Get it!” or “Wooo!!!” and laughed manicially.  He told one girl she had more titties than a dairy herd.  Someone (damn them) told him I did comedy.  Rather than ask questions or offer to even exchange jokes, the next 30 minutes of my night were spent getting peppered with jokes, mostly about hillbillies and sex, some about both.

The crown jewel of the night, though, was when someone brought up my buddy getting hit by a car.  “Who was it?” said our new pal.  “Some guy named Rex.”  “I know a guy named Rex and he only has one eye.  Whadda you expect?”  More sound advice has never been given.  Don’t be on the road when Rex is leaving the bar.

I have performed in a lot of venues in 15 states throughout our great land, including comedy clubs, bars, restaurants, even places like a senior center, golf course clubhouses, parking lots, and a strip club.  I have done well usually, with quite a few “eh!” shows and some downright bombs.  I remember my first bombing was my fourth show ever.  My two buddies came out to see me and I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, but one of my good friends from that show has never spoken to me since.

Friday’s show, however, holds a special place as the worst crowd ever.  We did a couple, but the first actually went pretty well, despite the small turnout and constant interruptions from people walking in to buy food.  Thank God the woman with the baby and four year old girl didn’t stick around for my set.  I did a kid friendly show once and got out exactly 120 seconds’ worth of jokes.  Thank you, good night!

The emcee went up first (as is usually the case, I am an ass…) and got the same response from these 15 people that I would get grabbing a microphone and doing a set for a lost rainforest tribe that had never seen a white man before.  He was so happy to bail after doing his time I thought he would jump off the stage.  The feature went up and got about three chuckles in his set.  At this time, I noticed a pretty girl texting and another young lady turned her chair around with her back to the stage.  I was instantly overcome with the realization that this show would suck for me.

I went up, faking interest as best I could and did all my crowd involvement jokes, using lines like “Who in here loves America?”  Nothing.  Commies.  “You guys like sports?”  Blank stares.  FYI, this show was a fundraiser FOR A SPORTS ORGANIZATION.  Now I’m getting pissed.  I knew it wasn’t good when I asked the emcee, from the stage, if he had a gun so he could shoot me or let me turn loose a torrent of bullets on the crowd.  Still, they stared at me blankly, except for texting girl, she wasn’t looking.  I stand by my tweet from that night that I would have rather done a show for NAMBLA than those cold fish bitches.  I would have beat some ass after said show, but at least they may have laughed once and not made me stand up there for 20 agonizing minutes talking to the silent oblivion of comedy.

I went to watch a show last weekend with my pal Anthony at the Columbus Funny Bone.  We got tickets in the back of the room, not far from a table of ladies, 30-50’s.  They were pretty loud, especially since half of them didn’t bother to show until 15 minutes after the show started.  Ah, respect for the acts.

One particular lady, the oldest of the crew, was outside when I stepped out to chat with Rick, the emcee.  She was hammered and proceeded to acost Rick for not wishing her a Happy Mother’s Day…which he actually opened his set with.  She had that glassy-eyed thousand year stare and was pointing a lot when she talked.  I’ll bet she’s a fine mother, especially since she’s plowed on a Sunday evening instead of hanging with her presumed offspring.

She made it about a whopping 14 seconds back in the room before blabbing very loudly as the feature act was talking.  The feature ripped her, but in classic drunk asshole style, she was oblivious because she liked the attention and of course, couldn’t follow the line of back and forth.  She was tossed after two warnings and was bitching the whole way out, spending a bit of cash on a ticket that she never got to use.

I like to drink, but I also know if I’m in the mood to talk, I don’t go to a show where the whole basis of enjoyment is nullified by not paying attention.  Note for morons: if you want to be the focal point, then work on a bit and get onstage.  If not, shut the hell up or go do something else, like talk to semis on the freeway.  Thanks for listening!  Oh wait, you’re still talking…hope you don’t wreck on the way home, boozehound!

Another softball game meant another trip to our watering hole, where the key focus is the Touchtunes jukebox.  I’m not much for pop music, but I know I’m not alone.  Here’s my handy guide to music for you!

If it sucks, then consult the following –

Good female voice, but music awful = Lady Gaga.  Catchy, but worse singing = Katy Perry…keep in mind catchy means I saw that video of her jumping up and down online and that image sticks, making her music “catchy” because her boobs are huge.  Bad song with dude and chick = Black Eyed Peas.  Bad rap song and chick = Rihanna and some nameless rapper.  Techno beat, two guys = LMFAO, who should be slapped for the band name and the hamsters in the Scion commercials.  White chick singing about how she doesn’t need some dumb guy around = Avril Lavigne.  Black chick singing about how she doesn’t need some dumb playa around = Beyonce.  If the chorus repeats over and over and over and over… = more Rihanna.  Someone get this dunce a thesaurus.  Oh if I play any songs = no one is getting laid because it’s Guns N’ Roses, Pantera, David Allan Coen or hair metal.

I was apparently behind this one due to lack of a vagina, but the BDSM how to/supposed to be a love story Fifty Shades of Grey (and the other two sequels) are moistening up moms all over the world.  I first heard about this “book” from a colleague, then I noticed every woman over 30 was following this book like a rat follows the Pied Piper down the street.  What is it?

Recap: Some chick graduates college, and although a virgin, agrees to enter a contract as a submissive to some creepo.  For those who don’t know what that is, he is the dominant one, the aggressor, he’s into S&M…oh hell, he basically abuses her sexually  and somehow this is OK, because a woman wrote it.  If I got caught watching porn like this, I would be a freak and a woman hater, but it’s words so it’s hot and cool I guess.  After spankings and other more taboo weirdness, she falls in love (what?) and it’s all good (I haven’t read it, just hearsay, but this is a free blog, so suck it if you have a problem).

Here’s what bugs me about this literary drivel, by the number.  1. A woman told me I couldn’t handle what was in the book.  Really?  I lived in a frat house with 33 other guys for 3.5 years.  The book could involve candle wax and waterboarding and I wouldn’t flinch.  Try again, soccer mom.  2. Why do women love it?  If I mentioned half this crap to any of my exes, I’d be on my knees from a knee to the groin, yet females across the fruited plain and lands beyond the sea are lapping up every slimy detail.  Mixed messages, ladies!  3.  I should have written this book.  “Um, we need a smut book, not well written that will sell millions and make you famous.”  Well, if I HAVE TO!  4.  Are women this undersexed or do they really want to be roughed up?  50/50 chance you boys are going to jail if you try to find out.  5. It’s somehow not porn because it’s written.  That’s pretentious porn and no one likes smug, judging porn.