CHRIS COEN

Hey Bowling Green and surrounding area, if you’re looking for a good time (not that kind of good time), dirty jokes and helping kids, check out Grumpy Dave’s at 9:30 Tuesday for the “Bad Boys do Good” show.  Believe it or not, I do benefit shows because I am a good person…and they have free food and beer for the comics…and I’m pretty sure I need some major points with the Almighty, so this probably helps.

The show is basically a no holds barred dirty jokefest, which means I get to dust off timeless favorites like “How I learned about AIDS” and other such filth.  It will be a good time, some kids will get toys and my soul is absolved for about three days.  Enjoy!

I had a surprise package when I got home tonight.  A chainsaw.  I didn’t realize it, but I accidentally clicked on the wrong tab on my banking site, probably because I was half in the bag.  This led to the discovery I had about 36,000 unclaimed points on my card.  The choices were fascinating – a gift card to one of nine places I hadn’t ever shopped or ate at, a deep fryer or an electric chainsaw.  Being a practical man, and huge fan of Jesse James Dupree from Jackyl, I got the ‘saw.

My girlfriend was beside herself with glee as I told her all the fun I would have with my new toy, such as practicing wood carvings on the trees in her yard.  I’ll start with a statue of myself riding a bald eagle with twin uzis, then it’s all naked chicks and maybe a wooden Conan the Barbarian.  She’s a lucky woman, that’s for sure.  That’s about it, the only other things you can do with a chainsaw are play the chainsaw riff from a couple Jackyl songs (yes, there are more than one) or dismember bodies.  Luckily for everyone, I think I’ll work on the Lumberjack riff.  As Mr. Dupree says, I ain’t jacked my lumber baby, since my chainsaw you.

I did a show last night where the host was a poker dealer for a private club.  A lot of his poker pals showed up and it reminded me of a tale.  When the poker boom hit in the early 2000’s, I welcomed it with open arms, since my great-Grandpa Albright was a true shyster.  He taught me gin rummy, poker, up the river and midnight baseball at the age of six.  I’m no genius in cards, but that is a good head start.

After a few years of doing fairly well in some games and even entering a poker league for a few months, I got invited to a game at the Sons of Italy.  These old, chest hair exposed, chain smoking, gold chain wearing old guys basically threw me over the table and took away my manhood.  Pineapple?  Reverse pineapple?  What in the hell is going on?  Goodbye paycheck, nice to know you.

I scaled it back after that, but once after an open mike I was invited to play at a well known den of coke.  I was nervous at first, but after 14 minutes, I had won everyone’s money.  $120.  I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.  Then I realized these maniacs would probably jump me to get their cash back, so I slipped out the door like a poker ninja.  Remind me to play ADD coke addicts every time…as long as I hire a bodyguard.

There is a lot about comedy that is annoying for all the fun – trust me, it’s fun.  I get to drink and hold a microphone.  You may not like me, but as long as most people do, I get hired to come on back and piss you off again.  Plus I get the delusional acceptance that comes with laughter, even if (and it often is) at my expense.  The bad part is the business aspect.

Most of the work comes from bookers at my level, which means some are really cool and some are not.  They scour the land, setting up comedy shows and giving comics like me repeat work.  If you piss one off, you’re fired.  If you’re late or miss a gig, you’re fired.  If you get a bad report card, drink too much, bitch about the hotel, etc. – you’re fired.  If you kiss some ass, you get rewarded with the agent putting your resume, not bio up at the gig.  This actually happened to me, which meant for a week, every patron got my home address, phone number, and email address from my resume that was posted in the entrance.  Thanks!  It would’ve been really hard to request a copy of my bio, which I have saved on the computer I used to email you five times last month.  Need my PIN number, perhaps my Social Security card while I’m unknowingly offering up personal info?

I have four shows this month where the booker hasn’t told me a start time, three of which I don’t even know what fucking city they’re in (thus, not on my schedule you see to your right).  It’s OK, I’m sure I’ll get an email two days beforehand, which is really convenient, since I work over 40 hours a week and most jobs just let you schedule vacation on seven minutes’ notice.  “Well, Chris, we’d like you to start next week.”  Great!  What day?  “Hmm, I’ll get back to you.  Don’t be late, though, or your ass is gone!  Welcome to the team!”

This will be brief.  My phone decided it would be fun to send me the same texts twice, sometimes four times in a row.  Once, it sent me the same text every hour, on the hour, all night long on a Tuesday.  I took it in and the fine gentleman backed up my contacts, then did a master reset.  I had to reload all my apps, lost all my photos, then spent another 15 minutes trying to find my hidden contacts.  The next text I got came through twice.  Remind me to set fire to a cell phone tower.

I then got home and my modem took a dump, so I’m borrowing my neighbor’s signal near midnight to type this blog.  I called my internet provider, but after 20 minutes of holding, I had enough.  I’m sure for this inconvenience, I’ll get a three dollar credit on my account…if I can stay on hold for another 90 minutes.  More reason to go off the grid.  Then again, that’s what the Unabomber did.  OK, but I’m getting there.

Me and my girlfriend went to do a distillery tour, but we found out there are multiple distilleries in Columbus.  How?  We went to the wrong one.  Scratch that.  Since we were downtown, we decided to use one of our 43 Groupons.  Turns out, the one we picked was for an organic restaurant.  I had one question – “Do they have meat?”  Yes.  “Let’s go.”

I assumed a lot before I went in.  I figured the alfalfa sprouts weren’t picked or pulled, rather they were allowed to live a full and healthy life before hitting my plate.  God, hippies annoy me.  Then I walked in.  Our hostess was a 6′ 2″ tower of sadness wearing all black.  The clients broke down as such – 1)All the women had short hair, most of the dudes had long hair. 2) None of the women save two were wearing makeup, but one guy was.  3) Thankfully, I grew a beard, or I would have really stood out.  Speaking of that, there was a Jerry Garcia look alike milling around leaning over everyone’s tables as they ate.  I had a fist cocked and loaded, but he stayed away.  I must put off enough anger to keep most of the freaks away.

I got chili cheese fries.  The chili wasn’t bad…if you like spicy gravy, which I do.  It definitely wasn’t chili, though.  I then got something that began with a “C” that had meat on it.  Not bad either.  I could feel my body fighting the natural healthy food.  How am I supposed to maintain this third testicle without a nice boost of genetically altered meat?  The best part was that they had beer, so my junk didn’t wither away completely, but I’ll be closely monitoring everything for a couple days.