CHRIS COEN

I went to the dentist yesterday.  I did my normal pre-dentist routine which is to exclaim, “Holy shit, I need to floss this month!” in order to not to get yelled at repeatedly.  I then proceeded to eat brownies and chug black coffee to ruin whatever remnant of white teeth I had left the morning of the visit.

Remember when you were a kid and sometimes the dentist was OK and every once in a while they hit your gums with the tools and it sucked?  Well, it’s like that as an adult, except the hygienist hard sells dental care like you’re at a time share being held under the threat that they have your kids and pets held hostage somewhere remote.  Of course you can’t say anything, because they have a needle of steel poking at your mouth.  Oh and you are getting mouth shamed the whole time.  “I see you don’t floss every six minutes.  Hmmm.  Are you using an electric brush?”  A gargled no escapes my sore and slobbery mouth.  “Oh really?  Are you grinding your teeth?  I see stress lines.”  Well, I will tonight if you keep this interrogation rolling.

The products are numerous as the stars in the sky also.  “We have an oral cancer screen.  (OK, maybe) It’s not covered by insurance (NO!), but it’s worth it.”  No reaction from me.  She steps it up.  “Well, even though you don’t use tobacco they’ve found…”  A bunch of stats buzz out of her piehole, but I am already thinking of ways to fall asleep with my eyes open.  “Have you thought about the crooked tooth you have?”  I did, then I started drinking when I was in high school and suddenly quit giving a shit about a lot of things.  “Gum disease is a serious issue – did you know the bacteria from periodontal disease increases your chances of Alzheimer’s?”  I’ll be dead long before that, sister.  Probably cirrhosis.  Does alcohol clean teeth?  If so, I won’t be back for a while.

Because my wife is a great human being and fine American, she got me Fallout 4 and a PlayStation 4 for my holiday combo gift.  The only problem at the time was that it came to house well before and I was here when the UPS guy left everything outside…in the rain.  What can brown do for you?  Leave your new gaming system to the fate of the elements, apparently.  Luckily, nothing was damaged.  Unluckily, I had to wait a month, knowing what I was getting in a kind of psychological torture test, with it somewhere in the house haunting me like the Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe’s classic tale.  Another week and I may have started having conversations with it in my head.  “Did you sleep well, PlayStation?  I’ll see you soon!”

It lived up to everything I hoped for.  The graphics are great, the game is possibly one of the largest ever made, and the dark reality of the post-nuclear world is intense…but it’s still a game.  I know this because I was getting lit up with bullets in a frenzied battle with some mercenaries and was near death.  As the bullets began ripping through my body, I paused, pulled up the Pip Boy and began eating Sugar Bombs cereal and Insta-Mash to get my health back.  She commented, “You can just stop it like that and eat?  In the middle of that?”  Duh!  Of course in the middle of a gunfight I can do that.  Just like when you’re a kid getting pelted with snowballs – TIMEOUT!  TIMEOUT!  I have my force field on!  OK, that’s not very realistic, but then again neither is getting healthy by cramming your face full of food.  If that was the case, I’d be the healthiest I’ve been in a long time right now because I’m fat.  I hurt my knee last week changing the kitty litter.  The extra beer and nachos I had that night did nothing for me, sadly.  In fairness, I didn’t test it on getting shot in the arm.

When I started doing comedy, there were a bunch of things I needed to work on or learn in my act.  I found out, though, asking questions before a show is probably just as important.  The “when you assume, you make an ass of u and me” rule was probably written by a comedian.

Example: Is this venue a real legit place or a terrifying murder den?  I did a show once at a bar in a bad part of town.  The sound system wasn’t set up.  The host left to find a mic.  The small problem was the bar had flyers up that said it was property of the “New Bloodz” (name changed to protect the innocent) motorcycle gang and no one was to question anything from a gang member – their word was law.  I then realized it wasn’t a bar, it was an abandoned meeting hall.  Oh and the owner didn’t have buy any booze.  When people showed up, THEN he went to the store and got a handle of Seagrams and a couple 2 Liters of Coke.  Then the mic showed up and first test the speaker blew.  They went to find a fuse, which is pretty easy to do on a Saturday night in the hood.

I, with about four other performers, drank warm High Lifes that someone ran down – God forbid the beer was as cold as the venue.  3 hours later, in the cold scary cinder block hell, the show finally started.  By then, everyone in the crowd had left (all four of them) because they weren’t twisted enough to sit in the freezing dark with a cup of Seagrams.  One of my cohorts told me they felt bad taking the money because no one showed up.  I took the money and slept like a baby.  Questions that arose after that – “Is this venue an actual bar, or just a building for illegal transactions?”  “Does this venue serve alcohol or do they pass out drugs in the parking lot?”  “Do I need to punch my agent (me)?”  “How many people have to show up before they turn the heat on?”

 

 

My wife thought it would be funny to give me and a my daughter a bald eagle hand puppet for Christmas.  It’s a great way for me to teach my daughter important things every child should know, so I love it.  I named him Sam and boy, is he smart.

Sam’s bits of wisdom?  Glad you asked!

“My favorite color is red, white and blue!”  (Heard in the background from my wife – That’s three colors.)  “That’s what a commie would say!”

“Bald eagles live forever!”

“Freedom isn’t free, but Americans get it for a discount because they’re awesome!”

“Eagles love telling people about liberty, except commies.  We poop on them!  Let’s go poop on commies!”

“Your sister’s name should be Liberty!”  (Heard in the background – NO!)

I think my wife doesn’t like this gift as much as she used to.  I think I need to find a George Washington hand puppet, then we are really going to learn some things.

Well, I ran the numbers and found out which blogs you, my rabid fanbase/whatever spambot hit my site that day, liked the most in the past year.

In descending order, the top five were “Who in the Hell makes these?” (about hands free breast pump and snot siphons), “Holy Crap, it’s baby time” (about having a baby, not me, but my wife), “Well, it’s time to change my name” (I am now Chris Hanson), “How to be a bag of shit after a tragedy” (I hate people) and number one, “My wife’s parole has been denied.” (My first anniversary)  The links are too long to put in a paragraph, but you can google those titles with my name and revisit all the fun.

What I learned is that people are most interested in my baby, my wife, me calling strangers bags of shit, and lastly my book.  Sounds like my next book should be about my baby and insulting strangers for their social media stupidity.  In all honesty though, I would like to thank everyone that reads this comedy blogsite/personal therapy log and I hope you enjoy it.  And buy my book “Stuff to Read While You Shit” on Amazon. I have a baby.  (See blogs)  http://www.amazon.com/Stuff-Read-While-You-Sh/dp/1329558936/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1451530419&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=stuff+to+read+while+you+shit+book.

Tonight marks the end of my open mic at Rehab Tavern.  I can’t even remember when it started, but it’s been about two years.  The owners and I decided the product would be better if we did a monthly show with booked comics.  The first run on the new format will be January 29th – still a free show.  Be sure to check it out.

I won’t lie to anyone, running an open mic is tough work.  It’s usually on an off night and the regulars hear your bullshit each and every week.  I did a lot of off the cuff or new material just to keep it somewhat interesting.  One big misconception with people that don’t do comedy – 99.8% of America – is that it’s easy to come up with good material.  I had someone tell me at a comedy club they enjoyed my set so much the first time, they were going to buy a ticket for the next show.  I told them if I did five minutes different out of a 30 minute set, they would be lucky.  They didn’t come back.  I could do 30 different minutes, but when I get four laughs and fired, it doesn’t make up for the goody time feeling I might have gave that random lady in Rochester, Minnesota.

Also, an open mic is just that.  Open.  As in anyone who has the gumption or blood alcohol content can run up there.  I saw a comic who screamed at the top of his lungs about cigarettes and blow jobs so loud six people walked out in two minutes, had a guy act blind and spill a cough syrup bottle on the table that housed the sound equipment, and a lady show up, do some jokes, then argue with me about one of my jokes while I was onstage.  Thanks for coming.  I had another new guy do comedy for the first time, then proceed after the show to ask me how to be funny (that’s what’s called an open-ended question).

I also saw a lot of great comedians working out hilarious bits and got to be a part of a citywide talent search involving all the open mics in Columbus that finished at the Shadowbox Cabaret that my pal Nickey Winkelman put together.  There were times it was tough when a major sporting event was going down or the speaker didn’t work, but one time an older couple I’d never seen before came up to a few of us after the show.  The crowd was pretty light that night, but they told us that they couldn’t believe how much fun they had for a free show on a Monday.  It’s not life saving, but if I can help brighten someone’s day telling them a fun bit about getting checked for a hernia, I like to think I’m basically Mother Teresa with a dirty mouth and drinking problem.