2014 in review

No, not boring and meaningless stuff like who won elections or natural disasters, a recap of chriscoencomedy.com, America’s favorite “What can I read in the bathroom at work?” website.  The results are in and my top three blogs this year were 3) http://chriscoencomedy.com/2014/celebrity-sighting-wrestling-stars/ from when I saw Virgil at a casino.  2) http://chriscoencomedy.com/2014/my-honeymoon-in-not-america/ and finally #1 – http://chriscoencomedy.com/2014/one-special-lady/, which coincidentally isn’t the first google search under that heading, it’s my Twitter page.  So I guess I’m one special lady, just like my wife.

2014 was a great year for me.  I got married (see above links and you may have figured that out) to an amazing woman, I started a corporation (not really, I’m renting my old place out) and I was able to do some great shows, including performing with Jim Breuer at the Rock on the Range in Columbus (also met Jim Florentine, a great comic and metal aficionado).  In 2015, I will updated the website to avoid some spam issues and hopefully add some more videos.  I get this request a lot, I guess it’s time, although I would rather rub salt in my eyes than record my set.  Stay tuned and make sure you have a DD for New Year’s tonight or pull my 1998 move and pass out behind a chair with a towel for a blanket.

I’m a good person, especially if you pay me

A couple months ago I ran something to my wife at her job.  On the way out, a lady couldn’t start her car, so I offered to give her a jump.  I was surprised several weeks later when she sent a gift card to me for a nice restaurant.  Being nice to people can benefit me?  I may have to rethink my entire life…

This past weekend, I was leaving the ballet (yes, I’m very cultured also) when a family couldn’t start their brand new vehicle.  I messed around with it and tried to jump them, but to no avail.  My expert mechanical skills were on display.  “The jump didn’t work.  Hmmm.  Let me threaten your car with violence.  I’ll kick your ass, car!”  Surprisingly, it didn’t work either.  Time to call roadservice.

Despite my failure, the lady handed me a wad of cash.  I refused it, but she insisted.  I then got in the car and realized she gave me $60.  $60?  I’ll drag your damn car to Dayton for $60.  I think I’ll start hanging around parking lots looking for people who need jumped.  That didn’t sound right, by the way.  Oh well, it’s paying more than comedy.

Old people are dirty, dirty cheaters

One Christmas tradition when I was a kid was playing cards.  I watched for a couple years and decided to jump in.  In about five minutes, my great grandpa had taken my money.  I asked for it back.  “If you didn’t want to lose your money, you shouldn’t have gambled.”  It would be a better story if it actually stuck, but trust me, it didn’t.  Don’t go to Vegas the weekend you got your tax return back.

This year, I played Euchre against my granny in-law (I think that’s a thing – granny in law, that is, I know Euchre is a thing).  After six games, my wife and I managed about 16 points out of a possible 60.  Here’s some samples of what gam gam said during the massacre.  “What’s that card?  A heart or club?  I can’t see.  A heart?  Pick it up.”  Then they won all the tricks.  Can’t see the card my ass.  Another gem.  “I can’t believe we took that hand!  I only had a nine.”  Me – “You called it on a nine?”  I think if she offered me a butterscotch, it would have been drugged.  She must have met my great Grandpa back in the day and heard I was an easy mark.

The only logical conclusion is that all old people cheat at cards and probably everything in life.  The other conclusion is that if you don’t play Euchre, this is probably the worst blog you’ve ever read.  Sorry.

Idiots are ruining my life

I am constantly reminded that people are weird and/or morons every day.  Here’s some examples I encountered recently.

In line for 15 minutes at the post office because the stamps aren’t dispensing correctly.  A manager type fixes it finally and asks the guy what stamps he would like, Rudolph or Winter Fun?  He is stumped and then takes a full 12 seconds to decide.  1) It doesn’t matter.  2)  You couldn’t decide in the 15 minutes of smelling BO only slightly trapped by winter coats?  3)  It doesn’t matter.  4)  IT DOESN’T MATTER YOU SCUMBAG.  GRAB YOUR DAMN STAMPS BEFORE…and now everyone’s staring at me because I’m muttering to myself.  Yes, I’m the problem.

I was running and saw a vandal had spray painted “Go Vegan!” on the back of a road closed sign.  First off, you can’t normally see the back of a road closed sign, so the placement sucks.  Second, what a rebel you are.  “I’ll show everyone I don’t care about the law!…but I care immensely about animal rights and nutrition, let’s not go crazy here.”

I was behind someone at the grocery store that split their items into two separate orders.  Annoyed, I switched lines.  The lady in the other line was shoving change into the self checkout, about a nickel at a time.  I switched back, only to discover the guy was writing a check.  He wasn’t even 100 – plus I didn’t think guys knew how to write checks.  Of course, nickel lady finished first, so I jumped lines again to another person who had finished.  He then took five minutes to bag individual veggies one at a time and of course, check guy with two orders finished, screwing me yet again.  I’m looking into online groceries from now on.

Beware the bullshitter

I got contacted recently about a performance.  A guy calling himself a promoter saw me and wanted to use me for a show.  I was pretty excited, but after some back and forth, found out he didn’t want to pay anything for an hour long show.  As an entertainer, you have to watch out for titles like “promoter.”  I could walk into any club or bar in America and call myself a promoter because I once posted a show link on Facebook.  “I’m a marketing specialist.  I also made pork and beans, so I’m a chef.  I then told my buddy how to beat beat Deathstroke on Batman: Arkham Origins, so I’m basically a crisis negotiator.”

Comics are probably the worst, sadly.  I’ve met more people who have claimed to have worked with Sam Kinison than he possibly could have met in two years of doing comedy.

I DIDN'T WORK WITH YOU YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!!!
I DIDN’T WORK WITH YOU YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!!!

There needs to be a Carfax for the comic industry, but trust me, if you do it long enough, you don’t need one.  You just know.  When I did a show in Indiana several years ago, a guy told me he used to open for Kinison.  Then he pulled out a piece of paper and read several jokes he had printed off a Google search.  He didn’t even have the decency to memorize the jokes that I had heard before my tenth birthday.

Of course, real promoters and bookers have been bombarded by these truth ignoring poop smears for decades, so it makes it that much harder to get anyone to believe my credentials, which are rather menial.  I’ve featured for John Witherspoon and Jim Breuer, opened for Harlan Williams and Pauly Shore, once headlined a high school reunion in Zanesville, have performed in a senior center, at a 50th anniversary, before a movie at a theater, and multiple bowling alleys.  See how fast that petered out?  Did I tell you about the time I worked with Sam Kinison?

Questions for my body

Another birthday, another year older (that’s how it works, typically).  I have decided to write down questions to my failing body, hoping for an answer or two.

Why, if the hair on top is thinning, do you produce more elsewhere?  Heat escapes through my head – not my back.  We were cool until about 30, no need to change it up.  Also, while you’re at it, keep those pimples.  I was clearly told that would end in high school.  I need to find that contract and call my lawyer.

I eat better than ever.  I work out.  Yet if I have one bad day of fatness, you decide to hang onto that for a week.  Don’t make me go back to White Castle at 2 am and pizza for breakfast, you no good son of a bitch.  I ate that turkey burger for you, not me.

You can go ahead and go to the bathroom all at once, like you used to.  There’s no need to go, then order up round 2 and 3 five minutes later.  Oh, and tell my bladder he’s slacking too.  One beer and I have to pee like I drank a swimming pool.

I tore a rib muscle working out recently.  I felt no pain, yet the next day I reached up to grab something and nearly went down.  Can you at least give me a heads up?  I didn’t even know there were muscles there to tear.  Not cool.

Then again, I had birthday cake for breakfast, haven’t had a physical for a decade, and my liver hasn’t crapped out on me.  I guess we’ll call it even.  Now if only I can find my glasses so I read whatever in the hell I just typed…