Author: Chris

Every small town has some dumb claim to fame.  I saw my favorite one – Norwich, OH.  Norwich – “Home of the first recorded fatal traffic accident when a stagecoach flipped over.”  Well, I’m sold.  I was going to move into a town known more for ceramic kilns or perhaps the first house on stilts in the Northwest Territory, but give me horse drawn accidents all day.  What was that meeting like?  “OK, we need a claim to fame – go!”  “My pal Ricky ate 12 hot dogs in one sitting at the Norwich Methodist Church social.”  Anyone else?  “I found a Dorito that looks like either Johnny Appleseed or Hillbilly Jim from pro wrastling at a party at that house on the hill.”  Hmmm…let’s go with the fatality.

In other news, I was behind a truck w/ a Cummins engine.  The esteemed gentleman had a graphic on the back that said, “I’d rather be Cummin’ than Stroken.”  Yes, it was spelled just like that.  I hope to have kids someday just to explain the difference b/w an engine and a orgasm.  That sounds like a good time.

Friday I did a show in my hometown.  They had a wireless mike.  It worked great…for five minutes.  Then it started cutting out.  This bar had about 200 people or more at 10:30 pm and my mike failed.  They went digging for another mike, but by the time it came up, I was done.  At one pont I mentioned that I would rather tell jokes w/ Adolf Hitler in my right hand than the piece of shit mike.  Only about 15-20 people heard me, though – the mike cut out.

I learned as a comic, you have to steer club owners away from bad ideas.  Much like the Gremilns – don’t perform after midnight.  In fact, anything later than 9 pm is usually asking for trouble b/c everyone will be hammered.  Also, never perform outside.  Nothing ruins a punchline like a train whistle or a jake brake rumble.  Inside is better.  Another turd is when someone from the crowd wants to tell a few.  This means a) it is going to stink and b) they are just going to tell “truck stop” jokes that every one who has ever hung out in a locker room, break room, or bar has heard before.  The worst idea ever is when they serve food…and want you to start during the food serving, so they have something to do during said waiting.  I did a New Year’s show (with a wireless mike) on a stage made of cardboard boxes covered w/ a sheet, too close to a fireplace, as the several hundred people grabbed their salads and rolls.  All that could be heard was the clanging of metal on ceramic.  My pal Laura went up as they served the dessert (buffet style, of course) and Camp went up, only to (surprise!) have the wireless mike go out.  Hey, can we turn on a playoff game in the back of the room?  This show needs more distractions.

Fantasy football is around the corner – it’s a chance for unathletic guys who never played football or are well past their primes to sit in a bar or living room and argue about how sweet their drafts were over yours b/c….  Every draft has the following components.  1) Guy wearing favorite team/player’s jersey, as though they are channelling Peyton Manning himself.  2) Guy who takes forever between picks, then tries to draft Adrian Peterson in round five.  He went second overall, dumbass.  It took you that long and you thought he was on the board?  3) Guy who drafts a kicker or defense in round 3.  Thanks for the donation.  4) Guy who drafts his favorite team’s players.  Sure, you love the Browns.  Colt McCoy was going to survive round 2, though.  One year I played with a buddy who drafted Bengals, former Buckeyes, and white wide receivers.  His team finished with a losing record.

Team names are always fun.  I’m playing in a league w/ a dude who named his team, “Shhh…Let it Happen.”  I am pretty sure he has a teenage girl locked up somewhere.  I have settled on Team America, so I can call everyone else out on the message boards as a bunch of commies, terrorists, and even worse, hippies.  Here’s to fantasy football, making me watch Seahawks vs. Cardinals b/c my backup tight end needs to catch 35 yards worth of passes – oh, wait, he’s hurt and I lost.  Thanks for nothing, fantasy football.

 

I passed some HS kids at the grocery store trying to sell me their wares, but thankfully I was on my cell.  I have some respect, though, b/c I remember doing that horrible job.  My Babe Ruth teams had to do that.  I stood there in my ill fitting pants (they ordered too small baseball pants) and mesh hat (before they were cool) like a showered up homeless guy.

Of course, we rewarded ourselves with some of the cash.  Fours hours of begging breaks down your sense of self worth and morality.  The prized spot was Campbell’s grocery, b/c it was busy and there was a donut shop across the street.  K Mart was nice, also, as they had slushees and baseball cards.  It’s not stealing when you’re buying baseball cards, right?  We were just doing research so we could be better ball players.

The excuses for people not paying were lame.  “I’ll get you on the way out.”  That guy, I’m pretty sure, hung out all day or crawled out a vent and ran down the back alley.  Then there was “I got your buddy down the street.”  I looked at this guy and said, “Oh really, where?”  He looked down in shame and hurriedly walked in the store.  The worst was a guy who tossed me three pennies.  Really?  .03 cents?  Do you know how much a can of snuff costs?  How am I supposed to steal this equipment money and illegally buy tobacco from the gas station that sells it to 13 year olds?  Looks like I’ll have to steal the snuff now, too.  Oh, look!  Here comes my cannister partner with doughnuts and Mt. Dew bought from borrowed monies!  Break time!

Sorry for the inconvenience, but my August 24th show at the Columbus Funny Bone is now the next night, August 25th.  The club will switch any tickets that have been purchased – just let them know when you call in.  Last minute change – sorry again.

I emceed the Columbus Funny Bone last night.  It was rather “flat”, which means the crowd sucked.  I hate when comics say the crowd sucked, but it was pretty awful.  I actually was flustered and screwed up one of my jokes.  I then did my set for the other comics and it went OK the last couple minutes.  My best laugh was after “Big Daddy Slim” made his debut to the stage.  He was a fat black guy.  I grabbed the mike and said, “The first two words of his name were appropriate, the last one not at all.  In that vein, my new stage name is “Angry Drunk Horsecock.”  Nice.  The rest of my set, not so much.

My college roommate, great friend, and the guy who got me into comedy, Justin Camp closed the show before he moves to Denver next week.  I wanted to have a couple laughs after the show, but some superdouche came up and kept doing an unfunny Bush impression while we were talking.  Turns out, he’s done exactly TWO open mikes ever.  His words – “Jonathan Winters, other great comics – we have balls for getting up there.”  We?  We?  You son of a bitch.  In all honesty, when I started doing open mikes in ’07 and my friends said, “You’re a comic?”  I said, “No, I do comedy.”  This scumdick basically learned “Twinkle, twinkle, little star” on the recorder, then told everyone at the party he was a musician.  Go pound sand.  I dislike Bush’s profligate spending, expansion of our debt, and bailouts, but I hate your ass.  At least he never interrupted me.

That said, good luck ol’ J. Billy Camplins.   Funny story time – the first night we hung out as pledges to the PKT frat at Muskingum we bonded over making fun of the extreme gayness of the movie “The Outsiders.”  Pony Boy?  Good Lord.  That name sucks.  Stay golden, Camp!  (To refute the gayness of that joke, Daisy Lowe is in the new Playboy.  Check it out.)