CHRIS COEN

I would like to take time for comedy fans to bring light to a very important topic.  Comics occasionally sell things after the show.  This not b/c we are all secretly in the apparel or DVD business, but b/c we need money to pay for gas, food, tolls, etc.  At the shows I did this weekend, I noticed some taboos…

One, if you’re not going to buy anything, please do not shield the crowd with your body as you tell me bar and truck stop jokes you heard that I knew in the third grade.  While I feign interest in your juvenile hack joke (or occasionally racist joke – thanks for that, Bull Connor), 35 people just slid past you, denying me probably $10-$40 in profit.  Get the fuck to the end of the line.

Second, please never do this move.  A couple smiled at me, then left.  The man returned a few minutes later and said, “Can you take a picture?”  “Sure, man.”  I let out a sigh, knowing I would have to fake smile with a stranger.  He said, “Thanks!”  Then handed me his camera phone.  “Me and my wife have been trying to get a good picture all night!”  Are you kidding me?  I snapped it, with venomous hatred on my face and he said, “Looks good!”  No one else could have done that?  You scumbag.  I just saw 30 more potential sales stumble out the door.  Don’t get a DUI on the way home!  That would ruin my night, you ass!

Finally, even I am not selling anything, please don’t tell me about every comic you’ve ever seen.  I really don’t give a shit.  You know what?  I’ve worked with 15 people on the walls of the club.  I’ve seen several hundred comics, from open mikers to nationally touring headliners.  That one guy, with the puppets (or was it magic?), that you saw in 1994 (or was it 2004?), named Mark (or was it Mike?), in Washington (or perhaps it was Wausau?) I have never heard of.  Stop thinking aloud.  Even if I do know him, how does this affect either one of our lives right now?  Tell you what, buy a shirt, step back, wait for everyone to leave, then you can speculate about Mark/Mike the magic/puppeteer from who cares until you drop dead…or the next show starts.

Thanks, God bless, and please buy my t-shirt or don’t make eye contact with me.

I woke up Thursday and couldn’t swallow.  That’s nice.  I get sick once every 3-5 years, so of course it’s this week.  Some drunk guy told me frost was on the forecast, which makes sense, since it’s mid-September and I packed no jacket, sweatshirt, or even long sleeved shirt period.  I did the show and it went pretty well.  The stage had five banners that said “LOL” on the middle three.  I think that’s why it sold out.  Unfortunately, I forgot to point at after each joke.  (Sarcasm).  Also, I may never eat cheese again.  Every store, sign, and restaurant tells me about cheese.  A Subway billboard I drove past said, “CHEESE!”  Cheese?  At a sandwich shop?

The road trip kicked off with a show in Galesburg, IL.  I had to tinkle and make a dirty pretty bad when I pulled in the hotel.  I got the cards for my room, but only after five minutes were spent looking for what name the reservation was under and a conversation about the show, which the employee was not attending, of course.  As fate would have it, my room was at the end of the hallway on the top floor…and my cards didn’t work.  I ran back down, only to find the guy on the phone.  This horrible bitch was complaining the rate was $20 higher, b/c of the festival in town this week.  Five more minutes…now I’m crowning and my bladder is stretched tighter than Joan Rivers’ face.  Supply and demand, bitch, get off the phone.  It’s amazing how your body is like, “I have to go.”  Then you get out of the car and it says, “You’re on the clock until accident time.”  I never want to get old.

The room was good, except the light looked like the searchlights from the original Batman.  I could only see an old couple and the front four people.  I forgot to see what time I actually went on and panic set in as I didn’t want to short the show.  Well, I overcompensated and did a cool 45 minutes, which pissed off the headliner (rightly so).  I hate when comics go over their time.  I did a show once where the stupid emcee did five minutes b/w every comic and made a bad show 30 minutes too long.  I did, of course, tell him I would kick his ass (he was small and I was pissed) if he did five minutes before bringing me up.  He must have been scared, as he did only four and half instead, that son of a bitch.

I can tell I smashed a home run, b/c I sold one DVD after the show.  Good things come to those who wait!  I bought a 12’er of Busch Light bottles with my fortunes, b/c I am a roller (my DVD sale didn’t cover the cost of the beer).  Since I am so famous, I’ll probably toss my TV out the window if and when the beer runs out (It’s bolted in, I can’t lift it).  I’m glad I told the hotel my name was David Hasselhoff to throw off the scent to all the groupies (there are no groupies but I stole a stale bagel from the breakfast bar, that’ll do).

There’s a new turd commercial on TV with guys tossing a food/drink at each other in a parking lot.  This one was for smores, b/c nothing says gridiron like cooking up some smores in a parking lot.  OMG!  I’ve never seen that before!  (Gunshot)  Here’s how to make a commercial ad for football.  Fat guy in solid color jersey w/ white letters, no logos or team name.  Good looking guy in tight t-shirt.  Both mid-30’s.  Smoking hot mid-20’s chick, also wearing non-descript gear, fully loaded with snarky comment or disapproving look.  Slo-mo shot of said food/drink toss w/ dramatic catch.  Insert cheering black friend, also wearing gear, but with two opposing fans angrily shaking heads (Psst…they don’t like the blue/white team.  They like the red/white team).  Finally, deep voiced announcer, white of course, telling you the REAL way to enjoy football is with (fill in the blank) food/drink product.  Change actors and food/drink.  Repeat.

“Tell me how you really feel!”  I just did.  Do you not fully comprehend English?  I just went off about people that still write checks in the grocery line.  I cursed several times and raised my voice.  That’s how I really feel.  If I said, “I would pontificate on my disfavor of individuals writing checks…but I will save my discourse for another parlayance.”  Then you could say, “Tell me how you really feel.”  It would fit.  As it stands, it’s pretty damn clear how I feel.  Now let me tell you how I feel about people who say, “Tell me how you really feel.”  And don’t you dare toss in an LOL – don’t you dare!

I did an entire blog, then trashed it.  What can I say to top anything else on TV?  Check this out – http://heroeshelpinghumanity.org/home/.  A lot of people did a lot of good things in response to something awful.  Unfortunately, not good for comedy blogs.  So I give you bad service stories.

I had lunch yesterday and it took an hour and 10 minutes to get food.  I didn’t get a refill for almost 80 minutes.  What was unacceptable, though, was that the waitress said NOTHING the entire time.  We complained afterwards, but she only said, “There was an accident.”  Not I’m sorry, is there anything I can do, would you like a coupon…just there was an accident.  This is what is infuriating.  I have worked in customer service a lot.  At least act like you care.  I know you don’t, trust me.  All I ask is that you don’t spit in my food and at least give the appearance of caring.  I once had a waiter drop a Mountain Dew on my lap and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you another one.”  Oh, thank you sir!  Can you dump this one on my head, my crotch is rather wet from the last one.