Author: Chris

Luddite refers to a tailor in England in the 19th century that saw his future threatened by the sewing machine.  So they formed mobs and smashed factories.  Sounds reasonable.  Actually, I like new things, but I’m always way behind.  I didn’t have the internet until 2007 and I was then promptly talked into MySpace.  Glad I spent countless hours on there changing my themes and what not.  I also was late to Twitter and still don’t fully grasp the #tags, but my teeming mass of 50 some followers (I think, not really sure) don’t seem to mind.  I also bought a phone with internet, but haven’t switched from my old phone b/c I hate the ring tones on the new one and I have better things to do than screw with it.  I have decided to let my current phone die, then I’ll switch.  Then again, I could be my parents, who have me fix their TV b/c they accidentally hit the source button and their TV is in the nether region of “Input 1” instead of “Cable.”  Dad still asks me how to program the VCR and Mom asked me to hook up her new printer, quote “Where does the phone line go?”  “Are you receiving faxes?”  “No.”  “Then nowhere.”  Pause.  “You’d still better set it up.”

This Sunday I went canoeing.  They have very strict rules at yon canoeing place – no bottles.  Apparently some drunk guy drowned two years ago, so no bottles.  You can bring a case of beer, but NO BOTTLES.  I guess they are more likely to cause fatal injury or some other dumb accidents, like litterbuggery.  I refuse to use sunscreen also, because men don’t use sunscreen (translation: I am sunburnt and will probably die of skin cancer at some point).  It was fun, but the beer, sun, and physical activity mean I went to sleep at 5 pm and now it’s one am and I am wide awake.  Thanks for nothing, cabrewing.

I have went to one family reunion in my life on my Dad’s side.  It was in such a small town in West Virginia that it is not even on the map.  We actually had to drive through a creek to get to the site, an old schoolhouse with no power.  The food was good, but I had one problem.  I hate flies.  Flies love two things – dog shit and food.  I saw so many flies, I think I literally ate some chips and drank seven cans of pop (yes, I say pop – don’t act like you don’t know what pop is, you snooty “soda” jerks).  Or was it beer?  Whatever.  I saw about 90 people I didn’t know and we left later.

My favorite part, though, even more than horseshoes, was the Coen entertainment device known as the pole.  Some slack-jawed offshoot of our tree put a phone pole up years ago.  They nail a $20 to the top and grease the pole down, then watch the multitude of young hill children scurry up the pole in vain, only to fall down, defeated.  I like to call this device the human bug zapper.  It is great for its simplicity and yet horribly an eye opening reminder of my Appalachian roots.  Imagine the “Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia” minus the multitude of federal firearms violations and jail sentences.  OK, keep those in, but a lot less felonies.

I have had some real heavy type blogs lately, so I will now give you poop stories!  (This was one of the topics, post softball loss number seven, at ye olde pub).  I lived across from the bottom floor restroom in college.  One night, a very large frat brother of mine blundered into my room with a very confused, drunken look on his face.  He stared at my recliner for about a half a minute.  “What are you doing, Brad?”  He looked at me, then flipped up the cushion and proceeded to drop his pants.  I jumped up just in time to prevent a fresh log from being dropped onto my chair.  I learned that night to lock my door.

Speaking of poop (I love saying that word), my favorite party trick is “poop dollar.”  You take a buck and pick up a dog turd and rub it together.  You then drop the dollar (outside of course) on the deck and grab a beer.  The dollar, shit side down, attracts people like bugs to a bug zapper.  They pick it up, feel the poo, then you laugh maniacally.  My favorite moment was when my buddy Dave picked it up twice within the same hour.  Best dollar I ever spent.

I have a terrible temper.  I have worked my life to be aconfrontational b/c I go so damn crazy.  At one job, I broke so many phones arguing with customers, they were going to put me on a payment plan if I smashed another one.  After a gig, the shitbag booker told me I wasn’t getting paid and I choked him with two hands until he feebly produced my $50 bill.  No one else got paid except the girl directly behind me.  My buddy Dan told me I was a hero to all comics that have been shortchanged.  I have been to the hospital for dislocated hands from punching a brick wall – the wall still stands, despite my efforts.

This said, I am not a badass.  My record in fights is 60%, but in fairness, I’ve only been sober for one fight and the last one was me against 7 college athletes.  I broke one’s nose, the other six got me in a rush.  Yet I’m a comic b/c it takes a mountain of insult to get me to that point and I am rather hilarious, obviously, so my temper is pretty tame these days, by human standards.

I am now put to the test.  Just recently, my hero #1 (tied w/ Mom), my Dad got lost his job, despite working his rear off to save the company.  Bullshit.  My Dad is tied only with my uncle as the hardest working man on Earth.  When I was growing up, my Dad worked 90, yes 90, hours a week to keep a plant running three hours from our house for three months.  At 61, he worked 60+ hours a week and was on call 24 hours a day.  My dad once wrote me a letter about my temper that helped me stay in control.  I will do the same now for everyone to read.  Dad, you are my hero and my role model.  You are a great father, an amazing grandfather, and a patriot that served his country when it wasn’t cool (eat it hippies).  You are hard working, wise, and a man of principle.  You told me you were proud of me a lot.  Well, I am proud of you, sir.  If you never work another day, you have 99% of the earth beat.  Our fine government has yet to issue his bronze star from Vietnam b/c the paperwork is screwed up (yay bureaucrats!).  My new life mission is to get your medals or ruin the political careers of every son of bitch ever elected.  40 years’ worth of delay is ending under my watch.  With my temper, I have a feeling a ticker tape parade is on the horizon for one David W. Coen.  If not, there will be a fantastic youtube clip of this old boy giving the “public servants” of our fine gov’t one hell of a beating.  Stay tuned, friends.

For every good joke I have, I unfortunately have at least four that suck.  I sat down to write new ones yesterday and got two that may work.  However, I plunged into the folder o’ shame and tried to rewrite some older jokes.  I think I may have, for three hours’ effort, five minutes pulled out of the trash pile of unhumor.  This, combined with the original effort, means I have invested six hours of my life, at least, to bring five minutes’ worth of jokes to the masses (45 people).  Tonight, if half works, I’ll call it a win.