Year: 2012

Most comedy gigs are booked to stand alone, but sometimes comedy is shoehorned into a festival with music, food, and God knows what else.  Usually, this is an unmitigated disaster.  Some people think comedy works anywhere – “Yeah, we’re going to have you comics go up over here next to the bathroom, right before the jello rastlin’ and the band.”  Oh, great, I’m sure the audience is ready to be quiet and listen to my stupid ass for 30 minutes.

I did a festival type show and it went very well.  Thankfully, the powers that be moved us inside (outside shows are horrible – I’ve done one next to a bike rally).  Every festival is the same in terms of a crowd though.  Pre-show I saw a drag queen, a dude with a bomb tattoo on his face and another guy with a cane wearing a shirt that said “POOPIN”.  That’s it, just “POOPIN”.  Of course, there were tons of independent tents selling everything from crappy jewelry to comic books.  I even saw one station selling DUI lawyers.  That’s a good way to get a lawyer – what, you also sell vegetables at this stand?  Sounds like a solid law firm; you’re hired!  Now excuse me as I put one hand over my eye and drive home.

I did a show last night.  It was fine, there were about 20 people in attendance, which makes it the fourth best show I’ve done this year.  (Gunshot…thud)  All suicide laughs aside, it was interesting because it was a rock bar with gothic crosses and a picture of Ozzy the size of my front door by the men’s room.  Interesting, because the crowd was 92% black.  There’s black Ozzy fans…they hang out with Santa Claus and honest politicians.

I did the show, no complaints, except one.  I’m not a diva and the headliner was funny, but he was also 17.  That is a kick directly in the balls.  No offense, but when I started comedy, the headliner was having wet dreams and watching cartoons.  So now, as I type this, I’m listening to the Cult and pounding Busch Light like I’m on commission.  Oh well.  Complaining about who gets the headliner spot at a 20 person crowd show is like bitching that you’re seventh in the gangbang and not sixth.  Hey, what am I?  An animal?  The answer, sadly, is yes.

I usually blog about the open mike but the crowd mostly sucked.  So here’s what you get today.

– Why do we have a damn embassy in Egypt and Libya?  What piece of shit gives someone that ambassador job?  Here’s our diplomacy when you storm the gates and blow up our ambassador – flash, explosion, goodbye.  Cue “I am a real American” Hulk Hogan 1985 intro music.

– Gas is $4.00 a gallon.  In other words, I will now be doing one nighters in Franklin County and its neighbors only.  Hey politicians…might want to remember we vote in two months.  Approve some drilling, slap some OPEC reps and let me make some money making rednecks laugh at dick jokes.  Sorry endangered red breasted warbler, daddy needs his petro.

– I actually paid to see comedy this week.  Check out Kyle Kinane.  He’s worth a look – funny SOB.

– I realized my comedy writing was at an apex when I worked from home.  Working from home means “Yes, I can drink on a Tuesday!”  Working at a real job means “Yes I can get fired on Wednesday!”

I got some food last night and perused the menu.  None of it really caught my eye until I saw a sandwich with Italian beef, pepperoni, peppers and other type stuff called the Guido.  So I ordered it.  I then realized how socially unacceptable that would be for any other race than whitey.  “Oh, I’ll have the fwied wice.  Why is it spelled like that?  Oh, I get it!  Racism jokes all around!”  That would be horribly unacceptable.  Then again, after Jersey Shore, I think Italians have had enough shame and abuse for at least a decade so I guess a sandwich is nothing.

Then I remembered once at an Irish bar, I ordered a round of Irish car bombs.  After ten minutes, the very non-Irish bartender came back and said, “You can’t order those, it’s offensive.”  Me: “To whom?  I’m part Irish (Scot-Irish, but he didn’t know the details).”  I then was told to change my order, or I would be served and have to leave.  So I ordered five and took my sweet time on the last one.  Damned white people.  I can say that, I’m something like 1/16th or 1/32nd Native American.

There is a fun chain of insults depending upon where you’re from.  Big cities call smaller cities white trash, smaller cities call rural areas rednecks, rural boys call city boys pussies.  Repeat.  I went to a bachelor party last weekend and well, my group managed to outdo any group there, whether rural, urban or in between.

My car had to stop twice in the one hour trip due to pre-gaming before the trip started, so we weren’t exactly waiting on the party to begin – we rather kicked the door down two hours before the snacks were set out and tapped the keg before the hosts got out of the shower.  This is a rather long-standing tradition with my high school crew.  I remember cruising around looking for a party (place to drink), then showing up first, leaving last and generally ruining everyone else’s good time.  Ah, memories.

We got to the dog track where such wisdom was shared like, “Bet on the dog that takes a shit.  It’s lighter” and “I pick the ones named after beer and cigarettes first.”  Nice.  Two guys got into a rather heated argument over a wife that used to date another one in the crew in front of a whole bar.  One guy may have passed out in the elevator (the main floor of the casino was one floor away from our rooms).

My favorite was the true party animal (not me, sadly) who shut down the bar and found some Jack in the room.  With little sleep (on a floor), he proceeded to rise like the undead and stumble to the breakfast buffet.  A maid asked, “Are you done in there?”  “Kiss my ass, lady!” he grumbled.  I like the insult combined with the proper title of lady.  Then I heard him yell at an older couple, “What are you looking at, the damn roof?”  They were truly terrified.

Of course, the final joke was on me, as hungover, I had to sit bitch between two guys and have Marlboro Reds blown in my face the whole way back.  I would have puked, but I was too constricted for the function of vomiting.  Remind me never to drink Jager on an empty stomach.

This is single-handedly the dumbest question I’ve ever been asked since starting stand-up.  I’ve also been asked this question several times for some reason recently.  Let’s break down why it’s so stupid.

First off, does anyone else get this question?  Go to a bakery – “Can you bake?”  “No, I burn the shit out of everything.  I actually caught fire to my last three stores.  You should probably run for your life before it happens again.”  So the answer should be yes, I am hilarious.  Then I sound like a pretentious ass, even though the question was tossed to me.  I didn’t just offer it up.  “I’m very funny.  What do you think about that?”

The only thing worse than the above question is when you say yes, then usually someone says, “Tell me a joke then” or “Prove it.”  This is where I punch them in the nuts and say see?  I’m the best.  Actually, I always say to that fun follow up, I’m a professional.  Give me $100 and I’ll show you I’m funny.  If not, you’ll never know what you missed.  (No one ever pays, but the questions stop, and that’s what’s important)