CHRIS COEN

1. Any stage time early is great.  Once you get your act down, some open mikes are useless.  If you do a show where there are six people who aren’t paying attention, you’re not building your act, you’re building rage issues and alcoholism.

2. The out of towner/guy who claims he’s a big deal elsewhere is full of shit.  When I started, two guys come to mind.  One said he was on the Tonight Show and everyone believed him.  I pressed him on details and he had none.  He couldn’t tell me when it was, how much he was paid, or who else was on the show.  Another guy said he was Richard Pryor’s son.  Guess what, ass clown?  If you’re not funny, you could be Jesus Jr. and I still think you suck.

3. Emcees who do five minutes between every comic at a 25 person open mike are evil.  I have things to do and there are four people in the crowd.  Move it along.

4. If you have less than ten minutes of jokes, don’t bitch about not getting paid.  Who books people for six minutes of jokes?

5. If you’re funny when your friends show up and think you’re awesome…do a show when they quit coming.  New comics that bring a ton of friends are like old movies of early aviation.  Sure, they get off the ground, but just wait for it…the crash is coming soon, cowboy.

I believe in charity.  Charity is good.  That said, I had a disturbing incident today I have to talk about.  I still a have a “real” job and this happened Tuesday.  A lady at a non-profit organization called me and here is our conversation, edited for time and interest.  Lady: “We need you to send this material to your customer so they can make our product, but you need to give the stuff free.” (Side note: This lady has never talked to my company before and I can’t sell to end users)  Me: “Well, I can discount it and even ship it free, but I can’t take a loss, that’s our policy b/c we get so many requests for free materials and we can’t verify the sources or afford to give the stuff away.”  Lady:  “Well, if you don’t give it to our organization for free, I will call your customers and tell them what you are doing to us and you will lose business.”  Eh?  “Ma’am, are you blackmailing our company?”  “Well, you know what you have to do.”  Click.  I got mafiosoed by a non-profit health issue based company and I feel less confident in humanity.

I hate tattletales, but I am strongly tempted to call this monster’s boss and report this, even though I am so against that act.  Imagine Girl Scouts planting sex offender fliers up in your neighborhood if you don’t buy Thin Mints.  As a comic I get asked to do benefit shows all the time, which I mostly do, if they’re worth a damn.  The only one I ever turned down was one 110 miles from my house, no gas money paid, to raise money for war protestors to go to Washington.  Use your van and your gas money morons, I’ll save the jokes for cancer bennies.  I am still debating calling this chick back, but my temper is so awful, it may not be a good plan.  I tend to overreact and break things…like office phones and the basic human spirit.  I’m like the Incredible Hulk, except less green and more saavy with a VOIP phone system.

I watched a show last night about the Amish who leave their communities.  It was really boring and interesting at the same time, much like half my blogs.  Apparently once they leave, they’re not supposed to return unless it’s full committment return.  This is pretty cold, but who wants those damn English and their cars ruining your good morals?  I did laugh, b/c no matter what, they can’t shake those wacky Amish accents.  It sounds like a Minnesota accent, only not as aggressive.  Plus, this is truly the one group I don’t worry about offending at all.  They’re not reading this, unless lumber or butter churns have internet apps now.

I was talked into going to a not-so-great gentlemen’s club Saturday night.  Apparently gentlemen drink canned beer and 40’s, wear t-shirts long enough to be summer dresses, or go alone to peruse the talent creepily, but I will move on.  I finally found something worse than doing comedy to seven apathetic strangers.  Stripping.  When did strippers not have to be hot to take off all their clothes for strangers?  If you’ve never been to a strip club, think of Hooters and how they will pretty much put anything out there these days.  If you’ve never been to a strip club or Hooters, you’re too uptight to keep reading.  Please go to another website.

One chick out of the whole lot Saturday was what I would consider “hot”, but she had more tattoos than a prison gang.  I like tattoos, hell I have one, but once you hit double digits, you’re out of control.  Plus, other than a huge tatty on the side of the neck, nothing is less attractive than ink on a titty.  How’s that going to look in a decade?  The rest of the crew was pretty OK to downright fugly.  (I have never typed that word in my life.  I don’t know how I feel about that.)  Look, I can’t understand periodic tables.  Therefore, I am not a chemist.  When you weigh 210 lbs. at 5’4″, have A cups, and can’t heft your cottage cheese leg past six inches…don’t strip.

I like strip clubs.  I like strippers.  I like lugging in my own beer and looking at naked women.  Yet bad strip clubs are like bad anything else.  Example: I love football, but I’m not going to pay to see your high school tapes of football.  St. Mary’s vs. Cedarville in 1994?  And you were a 155 lb. pulling guard?  Fascinating!  Pop in the tapes!  Plus as a side note, is there anything worse than when a sexy dancer gets you all worked up, then moves and you make eye contact with a 52 year old balding man sitting on the other side of the stage?  I say no.  You nearly have a stroke as your brain goes from sexy time mode to Oh my God, this is the gayest eye contact I have ever had.

I dislike happy hour.  Nothing is worse than having a few right after work, then going home at 8.  You will accomplish nothing other than dumb Facebook updates.  I need to unwind before I unwind or I am salty.  Of course, dollar beers are hard to beat, but my pet peeve is guys at the bar who wear work clothes…especially at 9 pm, when they walk into the bar in a suit when you know they got off at 5.  Ooohhh, that guy has a suit on.  He must be a millionaire.

Since “retiring” (read: quitting) college football, I have this lingering moronic desire to continue sports.  I have played basketball (I never scored a point in two years in elementary school), dodgeball (sorest I have ever been in my life other than the motorcycle wreck I had), bowling (two time Big Wazoo champions, but not really a sport), and softball.  We went tonight and the other team no showed, so we won.  At the bar, we got a call – the league commish sent their team the wrong schedule, so now I have a doubleheader later.  Boo.  Adult sports = injuries.  I have torn my hamstring, my buddy broke his leg, and another one tore his elbow tendon.  For what, you ask?  A $10 engraved trophy that sits in a bar in Hilliard, Ohio – 2006 runners-up, Field 4.  Yes, Field 4, where the worst of the worst relive little league memories under the influence of booze and false hopes.

On a side note, how do so many people with minimum wage jobs have arm sleeve tattoos and Harleys?  I went to college for free, drink Busch Light, eat Kroger brand ravioli four times a week and live in a part of town two miles from the Hilltop; which looks like Snake Pliskin is about to try and escape from any day now.  Seriously, they found a human torso in a pond a mile from my front door in 2010.  What have I done with my life?  Oh yes, it’s the run ins with the law, the gambling trips while drunk, and of course, the motorcycle I bought for $5000, then totaled after less than a quarter mile.  I went from a DMX video to a Jackass: the Movie outtake in one half minute.