Author: Chris

I was at a show Sunday and pre-show they had Transformers on.  It is one of the biggest pieces of shit ever made.  1) The Pentagon can’t crack an alien robot code, but the guy from Good Burger does on his laptop at his grandma’s house.  Right.  2) Following the rule of Hollywood, the black guy dies first.  In this case, the Autobot Jazz, who is the only one who talks black.  Racist movie.  3) When Josh Duhamel slides down the street at 40 mph after sliding off his motorcycle, he not only doesn’t have road rash, his pants aren’t even torn.  I wrecked a motorcycle at 20 mph and had to get four stitches in my arm.  4) Michael Bay made Pearl Harbor.  5) The scene where the Autobots are hiding from Shia’s parents is more cringe inducing than the scene where Tobey Maguire walks down the street in Spider Man 3 as the new black Spider Man.  That is saying a lot.  That scene is almost as bad as Jon Favreau’s phone call in Swingers, but that’s supposed to be bad.  Stay tuned for Transformers 3!

A funny (hopefully) blog to balance it out…  I had a show last Friday that went very well for me, mostly b/c I tried a new joke I’ve been working on and it hit pretty hard.  What annoyed me is the show time was supposed to be 8:00 and they moved it to 8:30.  So instead of sitting around for 45 minutes, I now had an hour and 15 to kill.  That’s fun times, sitting on a folding chair in the back of room trying not to drink too much pre-show.

I did however, sell three shirts afterwards, one of which the guy paid me with dollar coins and quarters.  Looks like the bartender just got a bigger tip!  I hate carrying change and what’s with this dumb dollar coin?  No vending machines take them and every time you use one, get ready for the “Well, I ain’t seen one o’ these before!” inane conversations.  I hate small talk and repeat conversations, but it’s something we do in the Midwest.  “Well, it shore is gunna be a hot one today!”  “Yup.”  “Think it’ll rain?”  “Excuse, who are you and why are you talking to me?  Go stand in front of a mirror and bore yourself.  Thanks.”

(Warning: This is not humorous – skip it and read another one if you’re looking for funny stuff)  Today my uncle Tom Coen is being buried.  I read his obituary and realized how woefully short those are, even if necessarily so.  My uncle was more than a couple paragraphs, he was a great man.  How do you put into words all the buildings standing built by his hands?  The tremendous sense of humor and generosity he had?  His unbelievable work ethic – this man woke up before the sun and didn’t return until nine pm or later – unmatched by any two people?

He used to take me and my sister on Harley rides and he laughed when I called my big wheel a “Hardly” Davidson by accident, even though in retrospect, it was hardly a Harley other than the sticker on the plastic seat.  He was always carrying a stick of Juicy Fruit and had Mountain Dew on command, which made him pretty cool by my five year old standards.  He got screwed over on pay once when I was working for him at the Muskingum Fairgrounds putting up facia and soffit, but he made sure I got paid for my work, even though my useless construction skills probably were worth a tenth of what he gave me.  I also saw him walking across a couple 2 x 4’s carrying buckets of cement when me and my college buddies tried to help build my parents’ house.  My buddy Waite mentioned my uncle was a real man, while us frat pussies tried to lug one bucket without hurting ourselves.  Plus his voice was deeper than mine, so basically he had the lowest voice in the history of earth.  He also knew more bar jokes than anyone I’ve ever met, which is saying a lot…

He also served his country as a helicopter mechanic in Vietnam, which meant he had to disable the birds before the VC could get salvagable parts to use against Americans.  Not surprisingly, like a lot of other Vietnam vets, he got prostate cancer (2.5 times more than non-vets).  I don’t know if the VA’s slow pace added to his pain or his death, but it probably didn’t help.  Yet another reason to hate hippies, I might add, but that’s for another blog.  My uncle worked hard and a lot of scumbags tried to take advantage.  To the vermin twat that stole his identity and caused him problems innumerable, there is justice – in this world or the next.  You and the others are not worth mentioning.  Rest in Peace, Thomas Wayne Coen.  You were a good man, a hard worker, and a true patriot.  Thanks for being a part of my life and you will be missed more than I can articulate in a blog.

Being an aspiring comic, I did a show for a six pack (it was only ten minutes long) at a tennis club last night.  There was no mike, no stage, but I did expose some yuppies to my surly sarcasm.  When you do a show that’s not familiar with comedy, you get some great intros.  The woman that brought me up announced an upcoming event, then said “This guy has been to the Funny Bone a few times.  Let’s hear it for Chris Coen.”  Been to the Funny Bone…yes.   “This next guy watched a comedy show on Netflix!  Let’s hear it for Jerry the Vagrant!”  Thanks for the accolades, you frumpy shrew.

I then had a double header at slow pitch softball.  I played OK, but had a moment that truly puts me in my unathletic place.  Second game, first at bat, I swung with all my might and the ball went literally less than two feet and just spun in a circle.  It stayed fair so I took off.  The catcher was a middle aged lesbian looking asexual man, but unlike a lesbian, he was useless at the sport of kings, field 4 slow pitch softball.  He tossed it into the abyss and I rounded the bases.  Two throwing errors later, I scored.  Technically a questionable single with three errors, I like to think round tripper.  Oh, the fish stories that will come of this monumental crack of ol’ Casey’s bat.  I was so embarrassed I was laughing like an invalid as I rounded second, but I’ll take it, b/c the scorekeeper on my team put it down as a homer.  A 16″ homer.  At Cooperstown, perhaps I will thank all responsible for my mighty deed.  “Thank you, Bud Select, for impairing my already failing vision just enough to hit exactly 2% of the softball coming at me at the ungodly speed of 11 miles per hour.  Thank you to the androgynous catcher for tossing the 4 oz. ball into short right.  Finally, I would like to thank my Dad, the 1980 First Team All American Slow Pitch shortstop (this is real, btw, my old man was a beast), for having shot 1% of his athleticness into my Mom in 1978, allowing me to run the bases without soiling myself.  God Bless America!”

I would have a nice pic, but my computer/cell phone suck.  I emceed the Funny Bone’s open mike Tuesday night.  Before the show a middle aged black woman showed up…with black face…wearing a kerchief skirt, head scarf, and high socks.  As the hilarious Darrell Dawson said onstage, she looked like the housekeeper lady on Tom and Jerry (sans broom).  She read nursery rhymes and talked very stereotypically of a character written by white people in the 30’s.  A lot of “I’is” and “yous’s” and what not.  Upon returning to the mike, I said, “That reminds me of my nursery rhyme: Hickory Dickory Dock, is it offensive that a black woman has blackface?”  I don’t know if her actions were offensive, b/c she was black.  I heard a black man say it was b/s.  A black woman said it was acceptable.  Discuss!  I only know if I did it, definitely offensive.  Either way, it was terribly unfunny and I hope she never shows up again…

– When three year olds can’t dance, why must they make them sing also?  It sounds like an angry mob of toddlers, but with sequins.

– This music is all remakes of the real versions.  And I thought comedy was lowly job to have.  What do you do?  I sang a hip hop version of “Viva Las Vegas” for a seven year old dance team.  Next month we’re redoing a snappy version of “It’s My Party.”

– Someone just yelled “Work it!” to a three year old girl.  This is disturbing.

– The young ones mostly stink and the 14 and ups make me feel like a perv.  This is a no win.

– White dance teachers shouldn’t teach white kids hip hop.  The shiny silver caps aren’t helping toss out a hip hop vibe.

– Now girls are dancing to “Lollipop” the old version.  Thanks Lil Wayne for ruining this song for millions of innocent youths.

– Seriously, old people.  The recital has been on for 17 minutes and you have to go to the bathroom?  Wear a diaper next time and quit bumping into me.

– My niece is so much better than the hack next to her, I almost feel bad.

– Strip clubs have ruined half these outfits, although I didn’t think so at the time.  Even worse is the announcer – he sounds like an Andy Griffin version of a strip club DJ.  He is too excited to be here.