CHRIS COEN

With the death of Macho Man, I have thought a lot about wrestling.  For me, pro wrestling went from infatuation at a young age to denial when I was told it was fake.  Rejection followed, then finally acceptance that it was corny and awful and fantastically simple.  That’s when you can enjoy it.  I was in HS when the WCW and WWF (later WWE) erupted into a ratings war (pre-DVR).  Wrestlers jumped sides every other day, DX taught a whole generation to say “Two tears in a bucket – SUCK IT!”, and Ric Flair flopped in the ring and in marriage.  In college we used to bet on pay per views and I won religiously.  My secret?  I found out who won the previous match and picked the opposite.  This secret knowledge may turn the underground pay per view gambling scene upside down.

My favorite, though, were the video games.  There was nothing better than creating a character on N64 and going for the title.  My alter ego, the Patriot, had some classic battles against J. Billy Camplins (Camp) and FCT, the Fat Chick Thrilla (Stottsberry) and his damn Bill Cosby sweater.  Occassionally, we would get so hammered, we let the computer simulate a triple threat and we hoped a timely finisher would net the title.  I also joined a text based internet wrestling group where the best plots were published weekly after simulated matches (all text based).  My best plot was when a guy trashed me on a post, I wrote that cops found kiddie porn in his locker and he was arrested.  Upon arriving at the station, he was met with a devastating Patriot Missle.  The commissioner posted it and my rival threatened my life.  Whatever, kid toucher.  Don’t mess with the Patriot!

iTunes sucks.  I had iTunes on my desktop, bought a laptop, and they won’t sync.  Options are wipe out all my old music (thousands of songs) or keep using old slow desktop to update stuff.  And yes, nerds, I did sync them and authorize both computers under my account.  Also, my website switched something technical, so I can’t get on unless I wipe out my DNS cache (exactly) which I have done three different ways.  I can blog, but not look at it.  Now I know why we all sympathize w/ Office Space.  I want to hurt this laptop’s feelings and insult its mother.  Bill Gates is a douche!  Take that, laptop!  Who blocks me from my website?  I would pour beer on you if I had money.  Or hated beer.  Neither of these are true.  I am screwed.

I saw a story about a group that wants to ban Ronald McDonald.  In San Francisco, they’ve already banned toys from Happy Meals.  There are government lobbyists trying to ban bake sales and pizza days.  You could make tofu and broccoli the only menu choices and kids will be fat.  Why?  A lot of reasons.  Believe it or not, some people are endomorphs, which means they’re bigger genetically.  Banning a creepy clown will probably encourage kids to suck down Happy Meals.  Plus, any of you do gooders ever hear of the Ronald McDonald House?  Worldwide charity, backed by the “evil” McDonald’s that provides housing at no cost for parents of chronically ill kids?  How about you moron schools quit banning recess and gym for tolerance class and self esteem planning?

This country is being turned into pussies.  You get gold stars for C+ papers and trophies in sports.  Every team, even the team that gets last.  Good lesson for Junior, since life kicks you in the nuts and steals your wallet.  I got grounded for a C on a midterm and I told my parents (I didn’t call them by their first name, btw) that I was being treated unfairly.  Their response was that my standard was higher and they confiscated my NES for six weeks.  In reflection, they knew I was a pure genius that I needed a kick in the ass.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t reach me after puberty and I never learned another lesson ever…but as for kids under ten, spare the NES ban, spoil the shitbag kid.

All this said, I want to have a kid (boy) to train into my evil minion.  I will brainwash (teach!) him into a cold and heartless being to conquer the weak and fickle world.  Yes, do my bidding, offspring…together we shall rule.  Or you will step on enough dreams to let me retire rich, since Social Security is going bankrupt on my 57th birthday.  Either way, I think my intentions are pure and by pure, I mean the self absorbed babblings of a madman.

Here’s a pic from just before my show in Morgantown.  Pictured is the pregnant chick who fired up a heater halfway into my set.  I wanted to say something, but then realized I was in the minority, since no one else batted an eye.  Plus, she was laughing at my jokes really hard and laughter is the best medicine.  Maybe not for fetus lung cancer, but I’m no doctor.  Not pictured is the asexual, amorphous genderless man/lady to my exteme right.  She had the longest ass I’d ever seen.  It started just below the shoulder blades and continued to about mid-hammy.  It was a sight to see, but it’s kind of hard to discretely take a flash pic in a dark bar.  “Excuse me, Pat from Saturday Night Live, can I get a quick shot of your two foot long backside?”  The check cleared and I sold one shirt afterwards.  I clearly picked the correct career path.

Complaining is as natural to humans as breathing.  The “poor” in this country have big screen TV’s, A/C, Xbox 360’s and iPhones, plus vehicles and internet.  I try to be above it, but I am guilty too.  I was talking to a guy about my upcoming three state trip that is going to cover 1600 miles and take five days, but I’m the one who signed up for it.  Complaints negated.  Me complaining about taking paid work is like someone bitching that their free meal was too filling.  There are legitimate ones though…like my last show where, for some reason, my resume was on the board for the show.  It was my comedy resume from 2008, not meant for public viewing, yet it was sent to the club – complete with my home address, email, and phone #.  Even more disheartening was how embarrassingly empty it was.  At that point I had been doing comedy for about 16 months and I claimed such credentials as “Interviewed by several newspapers, including the Zanesville Times Recorder.”  What moron would look at that and say, “Ooooo!  I must put this master of comedy in my rotation!  He’s been interviewed by a newspaper once from a town of 27,000 people!”  Reminder to myself: RESEND CORRECT BIO INFO TO ALL BOOKERS TODAY.

Last night I went out w/ to a bar w/ some pals and they had a punching bag machine at the bar.  I wasted a couple bucks to hurt my arm, but I put up 921 lbs. of punching power into the obviously well constructed machine.  The record was 934.  Obvious cheating, b/c I am pretty much a superhuman.  Where the problem came was the rest of the night all I could think about is what my mighty right hand could do to others.  I looked at a 275 lb. country looking hoss and just imagined unloading on him.  I’m pretty sure he is in bad shape in virtual fight world.  Then I gazed over at a 5′ 2″ Snooki looking chick.  Inner thought: “She would probably die.  Not that I would ever hit a woman, but if she pulls a gun, GAME OVER.”  I am insane.  This is why I don’t go out much anymore.