Month: December 2013

Well another year, another 365 days of assholes spamming my website with fake accounts and some actual human beings reading my trash and laughing, usually during bowel movements at work.  I’ll take it, that’s really all I’m worth.  Here’s what happened!

In my real life, I got engaged, which other than my bio, was my most popular blog.  The link is here – http://chriscoencomedy.com/2013/i-got-engaged-sorry-ladies/.  Rounding out the top four were these – http://chriscoencomedy.com/2013/how-to-close-the-deal and http://chriscoencomedy.com/2013/seven-things-you-didnt-know-about-me/ and http://chriscoencomedy.com/2013/mr-baltzly-and-the-dots/.  Why four?  Because I felt like it.  The sad thing is that my bio page and merchandise page were the other top viewed pages and I think I sold four shirts this year.  Maybe people were ready to buy and read my bio…”No thanks, he’s a dud.”

Of course, all my blogs are fantastic.  Or they’re free…that’s more accurate.  I appreciate everyone that checks them out, likes the posts on social media and may the spam makers burn in hell, slowly and painfully.  I may not be traveling to your hometown of Butthole, Minnesota anytime soon, but thanks to the internet, I can give you something to read while you act like you’re working.  YOU’RE WELCOME!

Some observations about Christmas –

Kids can get every gift they’ve ever wanted, but no matter what the cost, they’ll probably like something out of left field.  Example – I saw a kid open about 10 presents, then play with the wrapping paper and a trash bag for five minutes.  Then again, I could get a new car, but if you give me a bottle of booze, I’m occupied for the three days.

Thanks to the copious amounts of food, I spent more time in the bathroom than the foreign guy who hands out paper towels and breath mints at a nightclub.  I did not, however, stare people down and ask for dollars in a public restroom.  Or offer up cheap colognes to strangers for that matter.

I have seen enough sick animal commercials to fill three lifetimes.  Do dogs only get abused in December?  I’m also looking forward to seeing bowl games that have one word titles, like the Rose Bowl, instead of the Great Western Barbed Wire.com Bowl featuring schools with more than one direction in their names.  I would rather watch the sick animals.

Also, I got quite a good stash.  Lots of clothes, money, food and assorted goodness, but one gift really tickled my fancy (whatever that means).  I have my own bobblehead!  My lady will probably regret this greatly.  An example of why – “Hey bobblehead Chris, should I get another beer?”  Then I shake it to agree.  Repeat this over and over again.

 

There is a line in the sand.  We all must make our choices about where the line is.  Then we must defend it or run to the hills.  I chose to fight…a middle school girl.

At work I have a Captain America coffee mug.  When my day takes a turn for the worse, I stare at Mr. Rogers and wish I was punching Nazis instead of dealing with adult responsibilites.  Alas, there are no Nazis to punch, so he gets filled with more coffee.  My co-worker saw my mug and mentioned her daughter loved comics, but not Marvel, just DC, mostly because the Flash is her favorite.

This would be fine normally, but then later I was provoked with a text out of the blue.  “FYI, she said Captain America will be the next Disney princess since they bought Marvel.”  A street fight, I see!  I replied, “Tell your daughter I’ll fight her after school.  5 pm.  Middle school playground.”  I was only half kidding.

Then the second round…”She doesn’t have school tomorrow and she will be too busy reading quality comics to fight you.”  OH HELL NO!  “Tell her the Flash isn’t real (which I hope all parties know this) and he would have to eat 1,000,000 calories a minute to run that fast and oh by the way, Captain America fights Nazis!”  The response?  “He doesn’t have to eat that many, he could eat like a more concentrated amount of food due to time and science.”

I sense defense.  Time to finish this one off.  “Well then he should be on Man vs. Food.  That’s really fun to read about.  Cap just beat up another Nazi.  USA!  USA!  USA!”  This is how I end most texts, by the way.  I got no retort.  I think I still have to fight her daughter…but I won.  America!  Then the sadness of realizing I just argued with a middle school girl began to set in.  Hmm.  I have some work to do in the adult department.

One office tradition that America loves is the ol’ potluck dinner/lunch, especially around Christmas in combination with a Secret Santa.  For those of you who don’t have jobs, that’s where the women in an office cook tasty items while the men fight over who gets to bring plates, pop, or plasticware.  I always try to sneak chili into the mix, but the new guy beat me to the punch, so it looks like I’ll be at the gas station tomorrow morning buying bags of Cheetos and Little Debbies because no one will be impressed if I throw Vienna Sausages on a plate and try to pass it off as a family recipe.

The Secret Santa is the other part of the equation.  What that entails is everyone cool buying alcohol and passing it around, hoping the guy who got a flashlight out of his basement didn’t draw your name.  “Oh wow, thanks!  I needed one of these!”  (You no good son of a bitch!  Randy got his Secret Santa some Jim Beam!  I should shove this flashlight up your…wait a minute, Randy’s Secret Santa is a recovering alcoholic.  Time to negotiate a trade!)  Once again, because I am selfish and a last minute person, I will be at the gas station again, trying to find a halfway decent six pack, acting like I bought it days ago.  Tequiza, anyone?  It’s like tequila mixed with beer.  Sigh.  I’m sorry, would you like a flashlight instead?

I did a show at an urban bar last Friday.  For those of you not in touch with politically correct lingo, it meant I was one of two white people at a black club.  The show went well, although I was one of two comics that didn’t rap or dance during my act (the other white guy did).  If I’m dancing, take my car keys.  If I’m rapping, take my life.

After the show, a lady came up to me, visibly intoxicated.  “You did pretty a good job for a white guy in a ghetto bar.”  OK, thanks, I said. and she went on for a while about it. Finally, I told her  I have done enough hillbilly white trash bars I can handle about anything after that.  She looked at me quizzically, “I’m not from Ohio.  What is white trash?”  I had to stop and think.

First, white trash, while definitely in Ohio, are not necessarily indigenous to the region. White trashius majorius has many subspecies throughout the world.  Second, really?  You don’t know?  I had to think for a second.  “I guess the easy definition is they don’t work, get drunk in the morning and try to fight people at bars all night.”  Not the best answer, but I was on the spot.  She didn’t hesitate to respond.  “I like to drink in morning, am I black trash?”  Great, I walked into that one.  “Do you fight people?”  “No.”  “I think you’re safe.”  Then I got the hell out of that conversation before I got into another verbal quagmire.  Plus, I like to drink in the morning too…I see where this is going.

I am about to celebrate a birthday, one which officially puts me in my mid-30’s.  Shit, I’m halfway to dead.  I remember when I was in denial about getting out of the young man phase of my life, but that is in the rear view mirror.  I can’t read menus or computer screens without contacts or reading glasses, my body hair is winning the war of attrition (historians will bemoan the fall of the Coen empire at the Battle of Chris’s back, circa 2013, as the turning point), and I think I have about two years before I have to get something done about my thinning hair in the crown region (Santa needs to bring me Rogaine foam or a time machine that is body part specific).

All this has led me to reflect on my life a bit (alcohol does that too, but I usually just don’t give a damn after the fifth drink).  I will use 22, when I graduated college as a reference point.  Bad – see above paragraph…I’m not a millionaire or raising bald eagles on a ranch…they haven’t found a cure for ass hair…I need to sell my condo and the market sucks…water, not beer, still pours from my tap everyday.  Looks pretty grim, kids.

The other side?  Good – I am getting married next year to an amazing lady (see my fiancee’s “Bad” list on her birthday for the counter to this)…I can afford better beer than Busch Light (don’t worry, baby, I won’t leave you!  You’re still the one!)…I’m in better shape than at 22, which is more of an indictment of 22 year old me rather than an endorsement now…I perform comedy, which is awesome – especially the rare times when people enjoy my act…I have a blog, which is cheaper than therapy…oh, and I’m not dead yet, which if you knew me in college is perhaps a bit of a surprise.  I’ll take it.  Now if only I can hit the powerball and start my bald eagle sanctuary, I’ll really be rolling.