CHRIS COEN

In comedy, you get some pretty cool gigs offered to you at times.  Usually, it’s when you agreed to something much less cooler the week before or have something else going on.  For example, I have a show this Friday at the Hollywood Casino at 9.  I had to be up front with the booker and tell them there’s a chance my first child could come that day.  He reassured me that the casino could provide an EMT to assist with the birth.  There, problem solved, get in the car honey!

Once I agreed to headline a bar in Columbus.  When the day of the event came up, I got an offer to feature at the Dayton Funny Bone. Being a man of my word, I stuck with my original booking and did the bar.  Some comics have reputations as double bookers and will no show or cancel to take the better paying show.  In this case, I got paid more to headline, but being a man of my word was a horrible move.  The bar I did was closed early in the week to save money and they turned the heat off.  I did the show with my coat on and zipped up for five people who were all wearing their coats.  The bar closed a month later and the guy who booked me moved out of state.  Integrity sucks.  I’ve still never done that club.

Of course, the most important thing is to ask all the questions up front to make sure you’re not taking a bad show in the first place.  I got asked to do a show where the guy told me they were pre-selling tickets.  I assumed that meant he was paying the talent, but I asked just to clarify.  “Oh, yeah, you get all the keg beer you can drink.”  That’s the same.  I can run your ass into the ground on keg beer, but I’d rather not try and drive an hour back to my house and die.  Just give me the cash; you’re charging a door fee, scumbag.  I declined the “gig” and kept my very small kernel of pride.  It does exist!

Today is the due date for our first baby, who will soon have a real name other than Baby C or Liberty.  The baby apparently did not get the memo and is still hanging out in the womb.  Not my womb, my wife’s.  Everyone is sending helpful advice from the ever useful book of old wives’ tales.

Full moon = baby time.  This assumes that either my offspring is a werewolf or the gravity pull will take over.  If the moon’s gravity is that strong, I’d have to wear a diaper every full moon.

Eat spicy food.  Our daughter’s name would be Tiki Masala if this worked.  I think at this point, my wife would chug Tabasco.

Ride over bumpy roads.  That’s every day in this damn city.  Plus I’m sure that’s not the AMA approved method.  “We suggest subjecting the baby to jarring movement.  That helps.”

Walking.  Yes, because my wife doesn’t do anything.  I told her to relax the other day and she moved lumber and cut down a bush when I was out.  I think she would take on Magnus ver Magnusson in a keg toss or tractor pull to get our little one moving.

Sex.  Well, this is definitely worth a shot.  Good idea!

I think the best way is to threaten to sing heavy metal songs until my wife gets so infuriated the baby just pops out.  Where is a karaoke machine and the Ronnie James Dio’s greatest hits?

I run a weekly show at Rehab Tavern on Mondays.  In an effort to offer more value to the comics and hopefully improve everyone’s jokes for the crowd, I started a workshop 30 minutes before showtime.  It’s hard to tell people how to be funny – it’s hard to make yourself funny, but I have found there are definitely some things not to do.

1) Don’t walk into the show late and while the host is onstage, walk up and ask where the sign-up sheet is.  Then don’t sign it and bring it up back up during the host’s act.  Lastly, don’t come back up for the pen.  Actually, go ahead, you’ve already enraged the host, see if you can cause a stroke.

2) Please don’t contradict yourself in your act.  A new guy said it was his second time on stage ever, then did a joke about how he was a full time comedian.  That’s a pretty quick turnaround.  What do you do for a living, Chris?  “Well, yesterday I learned how to ice skate, now I’m a left wing for the Blue Jackets.”

3) I had another new comic tell me they wanted to do comedy.  I asked why – this person had just been dumped and was trying poetry and comedy.  I’m sure, somewhere in time, someone was a good poet and tolerable comedian.  I’m also sure I have a better chance of having front row seats for the final battle between good and evil at the plains of Meggido.  It’s possible…just not very likely.

4) Lastly, if you ask another comic for help, don’t then shit all over the advice.  If you think it’s dumb advice, just nod and say thanks – then ignore it.  “How do you tie your shoes?”  Well, you take the laces and cross them over…  “NO, I’LL JUST LEAVE THEM UNTIED YOU’RE WRONG.”  But you just tripped and asked me how…  “I’VE ALREADY GOT IT, SHUT UP, I’M SELLING OUT ARENAS.”  You know what, you’re right.  Your crack baby punchline is really winning over the crowd.

I found the worst lineup in television shows.  A&E had a new commercial that was promoting Wahlburgers, Donnie Loves Jenny and Lachey’s Bar.  This may be the 2nd sign of the Apocalypse.

Wahlburgers is a show that on every promo, the matriarch says, “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT THEM WAHLBERG BOYS!”  Then all the sons laugh and tee hee and repeat that line.  I know what the Boston Asian community says – stay the hell away from Mark.

Donnie Loves Jenny involves Donnie from the New Kids on the Block dating former Playmate that convinced a lot of people that vaccines caused autism.  Unless both of them are building houses for the poor to make up for their crimes against humanity, I won’t be watching.

Lastly is Lachey’s Bar, where the two brothers from a shittier boy band than NKOTB (I know, the acronym makes me cringe too) open a bar.  Imagine Bar Rescue, but without the verbal ass kicking and with 98 degrees.  I think A&E is actually doing a psychological experiment on the American public to see who watches all three shows in one sitting without taking a nap in their running cars in a closed garage.

I was out and about yesterday when suddenly I realized I had a minor emergency developing rather abruptly.  I began frantically searching for the cleanest, quietest place I could find and like a dream, the clouds parted and I realized I was close to a library.  Little did I know it was the worst place I could have picked.

I sat down and realized the toilet was about 16 inches off the floor.  This would be ideal if I was a bird warming an egg, but alas, I’m not.  I’m sort of a man.  As soon as I sat down a kid walked in, pulled on the door, then sat right next to the stall door and began to peer under the wall.  Call me weird, but I was rather unprepared for this turn of events.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  He said nothing, but he farted very loudly and extended his legs under the wall.  I was beginning to wish that I had actually crapped my pants.

He then began throwing things under the door at me and slapping beads on the floor.  Apparently he had just returned from Mardi Gras.  “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”  No answer.  He slid closer and more into my personal space.  I now wished I had a colostomy bag instead of being in this situation.  I ran out and realized the kid was unsupervised and should not have been by himself in the restroom.  “Hey buddy, don’t look under the door.”  His response was another loud fart.  I was so flustered, I didn’t even buy anything (Haha I was in a library, get it?).  I determined for the 131st time this month that I really need to find a way to never leave my house again.

I recently saw a commercial that annoyed me more than normal commercials.  There is a dating site called Farmers Only.  In the ad, a farmer is at a bar with no ladies.  He whips out his smartphone, signs up, then hot single ladies show and sing a song.  Here’s what’s wrong with it.

1) Not to stereotype, but how many farmers have smartphones?  I can’t get cell coverage in Pataskala seven miles from Columbus, let alone set up a dating profile on a ranch.  2) How does a single farmer have time to bar hop?  Every farmer I’ve met works seven days a week and takes a vacation once every decade.  3) I don’t know how many ladies are scared to go to a bar and meet strangers, but have no issue at all meeting strangers on the internet and then meeting them in a bar.  That actually probably ups the murder chance about 20 times.  4) Do all these ladies have to farm also?  What are the qualifications?  Houseplant owner or something more farmery, like do you have to have lost a sibling to milk sickness?  I like to think somewhere a farmer sees this commercial and bemoans the good ol’ days of the square dance or ice cream social, then opens his Tinder account and starts swiping.