CHRIS COEN

I did a blog last week and I thought this might work, so here goes…this is not be a pretentious ass, just what I see.  Plus these are easy to do…

#1 If anyone gives you comedy advice about how to be funny, they’re probably not funny.

#2 If you do comedy, someone (sooner rather than later) will tell you a joke you heard in 3rd grade and say “You should do that onstage!”

#3 You should never do that joke.  We’ve all heard it.

#4 “We should get together and write some jokes!” means “We are going to pound beers and accomplish nothing!”

#5 You will find out how cool/uncool your significant other is when you bring them up with a mike in your hand.

#6 Any comic that says, “I just get up there and wing it!” is full of shit or is a really bad comedian.

#7 If you wear a funny t-shirt onstage on purpose, you are a douchebag.

#8 If you reference that funny t-shirt onstage, you should be forced to have a Rochambeau with a barn mule.  (That’s a nut kicking contest)

#9 If you do a dead baby joke and someone laughs, that person (and you) have been arrested.

#10 If you hear this intro – “This next comedian does clubs and colleges all over the US…”, there’s a 99% chance that comic has done neither a club or a college.

More tomorry, kids!

I went to the open mike Wednesday and much to my glee and evil, there was a young kid making his comedy debut.  Poor unsuspecting bastard…  He workshopped some jokes and they were, how do I say, in need of some refinement.  He upheld Chris Coen’s rules of comedy #14 – “Any new, young, white comic will, without fail, do a joke about jerking off.”  (I think I have a new series of blogs on the way…)

As I have previously stated, new comedians are like watching black and white films of flying contraptions from the late 1800’s.  They get off the ground quickly and then crash into a mangled heap of suck.  All his pals were out, filming him pre-show, taking pictures, tweeting…it was depressing to see that much excitement, since every comic loses that after about 10-15 atomic bombs.  Nothing, I mean nothing, ruins your mood like writing jokes for a month then finally getting onstage and eating a bag of shit.

He didn’t do too bad…by new guy standards.  In other words, if 25 of his friends don’t come to every show, he is going to be on suicide watch right after the show.  Good luck, newb!  Don’t shoot up the place!

I have booked a decent amount of rooms.  I used to book a strip club that seated about 35-40, it was fun, but try getting used to telling jokes with a golden pole right in the middle of the stage.  Needless to say, a lot of cheap jokes ensued.

My first booking came at an Elks Lodge in my hometown and I learned more about comedy from that than performing in many respects.  Not surprisingly, my showcomers drink a whole lotta booze.  My first booking show was on my birthday and there was an ice storm.  We only had 115, we were expecting double.  Yet, my loyal pals set a record in beer sales (surprise!).  Thus began a three year run.  Side note: that show was the first my lovely Grandma attended.  Post show she handed me an “Upper Room” prayer devotional book afterwards.  (I didn’t read it.)

We had three shows moved/cancelled due to issues with the staff forgetting to write the date down and the loss of their liquor license.  The most annoying thing was collecting the ticket money, if not for Camp’s wife, Amanda, we probably couldn’t have pulled it off.  Women tend to think of details, like having “change” and actually “collecting” money instead of bullshitting with the audience or smoking cigarettes while the unpaying masses slip in under the radar.  The room finally went under, but we left with over 300 people at the finale.  Of course, I’d take 1/3 of that six times a year if it was still open.  Memories…all alone in the moonlight…  Memories are for pussies.

I have a lot of respect for clubs and independent bookers, due to the fact that booking a show is one of the worst experiences ever.  I’ve booked shows before and it boils down to two choices – go and babysit or just roll the dice and hope your drunken comics don’t blow your regularly scheduled gig by being drunken comics.

I know of a story where a guy got a tryout, did well, got promised more work…then went back to the hotel and trashed it.  Thanks for the job, sir!  Did I mention I slept with your wife?  No matter, see you next Monday!  Bad open mikers lie to bookers about their abilities and credentials then go and eat shit for 25 minutes, ruining a gig.  Then I come along and have to give five references, a DVD (that will never be watched), a DNA swab, and complete the final eliminator on American Gladiators only to hope some heckler vermin didn’t trash me behind my back to the bar owner after I called them out onstage, thus ruining future work opportunities.

As bad as I’ve described my end, imagine being the agent/bar/club/whoever that puts on the shows.  The agent has to trust everything is cool from two states away and the bar has to hope that the comic doesn’t decide to walk into his biker joint and watch a 145 lb. city boy trash the entire crowd.  Needless to say, I don’t do that, because I have OCD and have to be there.  I have, however, done a lot of booking when present and it blows maybe 1% less.  More on that tomorrow.

I gave blood yesterday – why?  Because someone deserves my rich and healthy superblood.  How could I hold this back from the world?  Now you see.  I wrote a joke about the questions you get asked there (several years back), but they have really outdone themselves now.

I sat down, wearing my normal clothes, with my full beard rocking and she asked me: “Are you still a male?”  I just kind of stared at her for a few seconds.  First off, if I say yes and you don’t believe me, are you going to snag a handful of crotch to double check?  And don’t even act like you don’t see my bulge!  Second, I gave blood a couple months ago.  I decided, apparently, to get rid of the ol’ package, but refuse hormone therapy and keep the facial hair.  All the cool guys at my school are lopping off their ding-dongs…I wish I could be cool too!  What’s that?  Sex change?  No, silly – of course we want to look the same, with our masculine features, just without all that junk in the way.  What kind of dumb question is that?  Seriously, do you want the blood or not?  Ridiculous.

I remember the first time I got paid to tell jokes.  It was in a bowling alley’s attached tiki bar.  I had nearly 40 people there to see me and I was paid $40.  About $1.04 per person.  That is a shitty commission, but at the time I was thrilled to make anything.  I was going to frame it, like a restaurant frames their first buck, but I ended up spending it on beer several months later.  Booze beats nostalgia in my book.

I had a funny conversation with fellow comics last weekend and realized there are times, very rarely, where you can’t believe you’re actually getting money for doing comedy.  Usually, it’s the opposite – you get offstage and realize you’re working for gas money and a bar tab.  I did a show once where the bar owner promised me a dollar amount, then when showtime rolled around four people were in the bar.  Four.  In an attempt to not pay me, he changed the terms.  “If you don’t do 45 minutes, I’m not giving you a dime.”  I had no business doing 25 minutes at that point, but this guy can kiss my ass.  I walked onstage and one of the four yelled out, “Are you that comedian from Zanesville?”  Yes!  Fans!  “The one that works at the Barn?”  No!  That’s my buddy Camp!  Then he and his chick got up to leave.  I said, “I was his college roommate for three years.”  He looked down, shrugged his shoulders and sat back down.  I then rewarded him and the other patrons for their loyalty by doing probably the worst 45 minutes of comedy they would ever hear.  And I got my money.  And now the bar is closed.  Cue up the Cheers theme song.