CHRIS COEN

I did a show in a seedy dive near my house, which makes me rethink my condo purchase…  The show started with a guy with a face tattoo heckling while (props to Jeff Burgstrom) Biscuit Jones smoked a cigar and occassionally played a trumpet.  A white trash princess yelled the whole time and commented on jokes that were told at least two minutes previously, but I went up anyway.  I got a Busch Light (which should tell you what type of bar it was) sent up to me and got paid.  For anyone that thinks comedians do open mikes for a month then tour the nation, sorry.  When I first started, a woman came up to me and said, “When are you performing in Dallas?”  See you in a decade.  Maybe.  If things go well, in two years I’ll be in a room where I don’t get stabbed.

The moment when the addict walks in for an intervention or the moment the kids walk into their hoarder parent’s vile hovel?  I would go with hoarders, unless the addict throws a fit and begins cursing at Grandma.  I’m watching a 65 year old woman crawling over a mound to get into her kitchen.  That’s the good house.  She owns two.  How in the hell does a retired three times divorced whack job afford two houses?  I’m literally a bad two months away from losing my place and taking Ted Williams’ place as the deep voiced hobo in Columbus.

I “headlined” an awful show tonight, so I thought I would recap bad shows for my millions of fans to give everyone an insight to the dark side of comedy….  One of my worst shows was in my hometown of Zanesville, Ohio.  I showed up at a VFW and there were 300 people there.  I went up to the barkeep and she told me I was in the “other” room.  I walked across the building and there were 20 people in the bar, 17 of whom probably were doughboys in WWI.  The gentleman who set up the gig handed me a mike and told me to stand by the door, which opened inward, meaning everyone who entered hit me in the back with the door.  To top off the intro, a guy brought his two sons, under 10 in the room and sat down in the front.  As I started talking into the Mr. Microphone quality sound equipment, the voice of God came over the loudspeaker.  It was announcing that so and so had their lights on or the raffle drawing was in 10 minutes.  After 20 minutes of this torture, I looked right and realized the perp was indeed my benefactor, Mum-Ra, the ever living, the man that booked me for the show.  When he interrupted me for the fourth time to announce that steaks had to be ordered in five minutes before the grill was shut off, I snapped.  I told Montgomery Burns I would quit then for half pay.  And I did.  It is the only time I have ever bailed on a show and the manager took me up on it.  I’m sure he’s dead now, but so is a piece of my soul for embarrassing myself in front of the generation before the greatest generation.  In retrospect, I still got paid and the check didn’t bounce, so I will call that a win.

June 6, 9 pm, I get total creative control of a 90 minute show at Wild Goose Creative…sketch comedy, stand up, and music.  More details later.

Columbusans (?) and denizens of central Ohio be sure to check out columbusisfunny.com for local shows, sketches, and all events comedy related if you’re looking for something to do around the area.  Most importantly, it links back here, so you don’t go into Chris Coen withdraw.

I recalled a story tonight about my favorite concert moment.  A few years ago, I went to my annual summer trip, Jamboree in the Hills.  It is a four day country music festival that is basically boot camp for alcoholics.  I don’t know most of the musicians that well, but I go w/ my redneck buddies and we drink the whole time.  Kenny Rogers was there once and he proceeded, in front of 50,000 white trash drunks to play The Gambler, his most popular song.  However, he made a judgement error and played the rap version he did w/ Coolio.  The crowd was enraged and began booing.  His response was to berate the crowd and call us the worst audience since Montreal, where no one spoke English.  This did not sit well with me after all day drinking and I began ripping up clods of earth and flinging them at the stage with about a dozen other hilljacks.  He left the stage and I went back to the campsite to restock my beer.  On the way back in, his tour bus was pulling out and I yelled obscenities and hurled Busch Light cans at his bus until security told me stop.  I think Mr. Rogers got the point and I confirmed that yes, I am indeed complete white trash.