CHRIS COEN

I don’t get dancing.  I have no desire to dance, yet I can tell it’s something in people – just go to a wedding and watch kids dance until they collapse.  There’s 20 dancing shows on TV that millions of people watch.  In fact, I would probably never ever dance…sober.

In college, I had quite a few beers one night and decided, for some bizarre reason, to tear up the dance floor…by myself.  What followed was a spinning, knee-dipping back and forth mini-disaster my buddy Jason called the “Heel-toe”, due to the heel to toe shifts.  I actually got an audience of people, which for me, is the worst thing possible.  So, whenever the moon was full and I drank a lot, the heel-toe would resurface much to the delight of my pals.

Well, I had pretty much put that move to rest for all times, after all, I have a girlfriend now and it’s really not fair to unleash all the sexy of the heel-toe on the ladies of the world.  With great power comes great responsibility.  Last weekend, with a couple requests at a wedding (and more importantly, quite a few beers), the heel-toe made its return, much like a Mr. Hyde coming back to ruin the quiet life of Dr. Jekyll.  Everyone on the dance floor was quite amazed at the variety of amazing I unleashed…or they were stunned I was actually doing whatever in the hell I was doing.  My only saving grace was the fact that some chick was dancing like Elaine at the office party on Seinfeld.  I can’t even bad dance better than everyone…well, better stick with my even more well-known dance move – drinking in the dark corner of the bar.

1) Comments on internet posts.  I will probably work on this more, but I dare you to find three internet stories in which no one comments on politics or religion.  It could be a story about pandas and within three posts two morons have a bullet point debate online.

2) Bartenders that give me attitude for not knowing what their microbrew bullshit is.  Do you have something in the Bud Light tree?  No?  Oh, you’re now condescending towards me.  Guess I’ll have the Autumn Wood Barnacle Pale Ale.  Ah yes, nothing but hops and moss in every drink.

3) I hate when people say stupid things and no one calls them out.  I was sitting around a card table once and a guy said, “You know, we haven’t had a good president since Jimmy Carter!”  That’s your go to president?  He might as well have said, “That Nixon was a hell of stand up guy.”  I was so dumbfounded, I just sat there and no one said a word.  What other revelations do you have for us?  “You know, I thought New Coke didn’t get a fair shake.  While we’re at it, I heard people are using bags to pick up dog shit these days.  What’s wrong with a bare hand?”

4) The old husband/wife combo phone call.  “What kind of deals do you have going on?”  Well, actually, I have “TELL HIM WE HAVE A SENIOR DISCOUNT!!!”  Wow, that was loud.  So, what can I “SHE SAID WE HAVE A SENIOR DISCOUNT!”  Yeah, thanks.  I heard that earlier.  So, can I “MAKE SURE HE HEARD YOU!!!”  Oh no!  You’re breaking up!  Click.

5) Dry wedding receptions.  Are you kidding me?  I’m taking back the gift I regifted for this affront!

What?  Let me explain.  I was supposed to do a show for a charity group whose purpose was to get clean drinking water for the kids.  Very noble, I say.  I don’t know what kids in America are drinking out of the toilet, but I digress.  Is there an opposition group?  “You know, I just love when kids drink out of mud puddles and open cisterns.  It builds character.”

Well, my friends, the show was cancelled due to lack of ticket sales…they had to sell 20 tickets.  Guess your cause sucks or you’re a bunch of lazy POS’s.  (POS stands for piece of shit, FYI BTW)  That, or the dirty water crowd is very busy spreading their whatever wing agenda!  Those bastards!  Now excuse me while I pour sewage into chocolate milk cartons.  No child gets fresh water on my watch!  (This message is approved by the American Freedom Patriots for Dysentery)

I saw Michael Turner, starting running back for the Atlanta Falcons, got a DUI last night…at 5 am.  This is amazing for several reasons.  First, he played the whole game last night until midnight.  This depresses me – he played in a NFL game then went out drinking until the sun was about to come up.  I played in an alumni football game last year and couldn’t sit up straight for over a week.  I now have a “hypermobile joint” in my upper back where the ribhead popped out of place.  That doesn’t go away, it’s always there.  I can crack my back now my inhaling.  This clown played against elite competition and went boozing all night.  What a dick.

Next, little known fact – NFL players have a FREE limo service provided to them by the league to avoid DUI’s.  Not a taxi with a swarthy, BO stinking cabbie.  A limo service.  Free.  Why?  To avoid DUI’s.  I once walked 29 blocks to avoid driving drunk to get back to my hotel because I am too poor to waste it on things like a cab…or a DUI for that matter.  Of course, I once rang up a $105 bar tab drinking draft beer.  That was a fun morning.

I would add Amanda Bynes’ driving trouble to this, but all I know is she’s a less famous Lindsay Lohan, which is like being a less sexually appealing Rosie O’Donnell or a less likeable Kristen Stewart.  (That means not good).  Of course, you could be a less comedically talented Chris Coen, in which case, you are Chris Coen circa 2009 and neither is good.

I won’t lie, I had to look up how to spell the title.  Comedy is a weird game.  To get work, people want to see video clips or have you guest set.  Guest setting sucks because you don’t get paid, but may get future work.  This is not normal.  “I would like to work here at the factory.”  “Well, why don’t you put in a week, show me you can run a crane.  Then I may hire you, but I’ll probably forget your name.  Unless you fuck up, then I’ll never, ever forget it.”

The video clip thing stinks because any asshole that has ever done comedy can put together a good five minutes.  Stack the crowd, do your best five and someone checking out the clip thinks you’re Richard Pryor.  I recently entered a comedy festival in a far away land where I had to submit a video clip and pay $25 to dump my name in a pool of great and shitty comics, hoping against hope I make the cut.  If I don’t get in, they keep the money.  I basically paid $25 to bribe some club owner to please God maybe watch my set.  Then, if they like it – I get to do a free festival, where I may possibly make some connections…or waste my time and money getting rejected in person.  I was about to say piss on it, then I saw the winner got to do prime time late night TV spots.  Only $25?  Sign me up!

Most comedy gigs are booked to stand alone, but sometimes comedy is shoehorned into a festival with music, food, and God knows what else.  Usually, this is an unmitigated disaster.  Some people think comedy works anywhere – “Yeah, we’re going to have you comics go up over here next to the bathroom, right before the jello rastlin’ and the band.”  Oh, great, I’m sure the audience is ready to be quiet and listen to my stupid ass for 30 minutes.

I did a festival type show and it went very well.  Thankfully, the powers that be moved us inside (outside shows are horrible – I’ve done one next to a bike rally).  Every festival is the same in terms of a crowd though.  Pre-show I saw a drag queen, a dude with a bomb tattoo on his face and another guy with a cane wearing a shirt that said “POOPIN”.  That’s it, just “POOPIN”.  Of course, there were tons of independent tents selling everything from crappy jewelry to comic books.  I even saw one station selling DUI lawyers.  That’s a good way to get a lawyer – what, you also sell vegetables at this stand?  Sounds like a solid law firm; you’re hired!  Now excuse me as I put one hand over my eye and drive home.