HAX-TV Makeover Episode

Last night was our 6th episode of HAX-TV, the Hostile Makeover show. With the help of Pinky Murdero and Tony "Thigh Meat" Moser, there was a great segment wherein Tones was given a fashion update. He has since abandoned the look in favor of his "Street Tough Charlie Brown" look. Damn if that guy ain't funny. Damn if that guy ain't got a talent for the comedy.
Damn.
Tony's rap video was tight, fresh, and fly. He gots mad love from tha streetz. Yeuh, Tone, whaddup Playah? Whaddup Pe-imp? YEUH BOY! No seriously, what's up? You left in a huff last night. What's up?

Luckily for us, it was dress rehearsal. Brousseau's intensity was key, he made us feel as if there were people watching. I need to be more tuned in for that stuff. He's good at what he does. And what a glorious head of hair.

We have a regular caller named Willie G who, for some reason, is obsessed with baby nuts and smoking pot and pants-pooping. If anyone knows a cop or a member of the FBI, let's get a trace on this Willie guy next time. I'm pretty sure you can find some Columbine plans and and underage alternative school chick in his parent's basement/apartment.

Overall the show was probably one of our best. And we didn't tape it. If you happened to tape it, pleeeeease let me know and I'll make you dinner for a copy. Dinner will consist of refried black beans, pulled-pork sandwiches, garlic fries, and soy ice cream.

HAX is back on the air in 2 weeks!
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Must Be This Tall To Mustache Ride
Mustache Rides. That is f*cking FUNNY.
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Funny Bad Story of the Week

A 19 year-old woman with brain damage was reported missing last week after leaving an argument with her mother during the Styx concert at the Puyallup Fair.

• Brain damage
• Styx concert
• Puyallup Fair

It kind of writes itself. It's got more arms than the Octopus Ride she was found taking tickets for 30 mintues later.
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Parenting Skills

The other day at the store I told a woman to tell her child to be quiet. I could actually feel every word coming out of my mouth. They were like hiccups, as if I couldn't control them but I was powerless to the forced contractions of air through my vocal chords, so are the days of my life. Her daughter, about 2-3 years old, was yelling and screaming while walking down the aisle, away from her mom's cart. The kid would run away from her mom, who never hung up her call, and mom would leave the cart or try and back the cart up with one hand and gaff the kid free-hand.

It dawned on me that the mom's convo was more important than A) her child's welfare, B) getting her shopping done in a timely manner, and C) the generally calm demeanor of the grocery store. I don't know what the call was about, but unless it was a negotiation with an East Timor child-labor sweatshop, it wasn't worth disrupting an entire store. So as the kid came running near me and I played soccer goalie, dancing back and forth to corral the chumpkin. I think she quickly realized I wasn't her dad and could therefore not be investigated for child abuse should she take a fall, so she stopped and looked up at me, silently. Her mom had yet to hang up. Mom looks at me like "isn't she a turd? I'm frustrated, too" and grabs her kid, with no "thanks" or "sorry" or anything, as if I was some metaphorical condom who's job it was to stop unwanted kids traveling up the tea/coffee/cereal tubes.

So as she grabs the kid by the hand, I say "You're not paying enough attention to your kid," and walk on down the aisle past her. I don't know if she heard me. I hope she realizes that a kid running around in a crowded store is not the safest little poopsie. People talk about "parenting" and "having kids" as being really hard. It would seem that you love them a lot and use common sense, and realize that YOU ARE THE BOSS OF THEM, and they will do what you say, not by reason, but by respect. So you choke-collar the antsy on for a few years, they'll learn. If you want to bring a kid into public and you can't control it, someone has to. If you can't control a loud 2 year-old, you better start saving their college money in a bail fund.
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"Not Everyone Believes In Travis Simmons, It's a Fact."

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Perhaps I'm Just a Prick. (insert emoticon here)

I was reading Blaine's blog earlier and it opened my eyes to a number of things. A few comics I'd never heard of, an update on our friend Meghan's trip through the San Fran Comedy Competition, and a statement at the end about heckling loudly at the open mic. It made me think if I did that last night. I know I've done it before, so I guess I am, or at least have been, a prick, as he put it. I actually try to let go of that whole deal, to just let people go on stage and do whatever it is they do. And the stupid thing is that a day later I rarely remember what it was they said that may have made me heckle prickishly. In that sense, why the hell would I even do it? It's not a comic's intent to drill one in my wheelhouse and attempt to offend just me, and if I get offended, that's really just my peccadillo to bear.

To be honest, I can't justify sitting in the back of a comedy club and heckling. Not loudly, anyway. Lord knows I wouldn't want anyone doing it to me, throwing some verbal comedy gauntlet in my grill. And what's meaner than knowing something is mean and doing it anyway? That's actually kind of evil. That's like talking down to a person you know is insecure, or manipulating someone to tell you something they probably don't feel, just so you can feel the throb of your own ego. Meanness can't be justified, unless the person getting meaned on was a dick to begin with. Whatever is in you is going to come out, sooner or later. If you're a dick, it will show. If you're a good person, you won't be able to hide it. If you're partial to telling others what's wrong with their judging of others, well you're an oxymoron. And the horse you rode in on.

I wish there were comedy classes for people to take to remind them of some basic trouble spots:
* Rhetorical Questions on stage. Find another way to phrase the idea, but don't quiz the audience. Ask a question, and someone will answer.
* Addressing an audience as "You." What "you" don't know is that "you" are not as smart as the person telling "you" all about how to solve the world's political strife, an idea derived from sleep deprivation, weak weed, and too many viewings of "The Daily Show."
* Giving two shits about what others say. If that person's a friend of yours or has decision-making authority over your paycheck, that carries clout. Other than that, that person's pointing a finger with suspect aim. Repeat this phrase: "Thanks. The line to blow me forms in front of the Anacortes Quizno's."
* Thinking I am good. Good is mediocre with a sunny disposition. I want to be one of the best. If I don't want that I'm just wasting my time in this.
* Seeing both sides of an argument. It's better to be completely entrenched in one school of thought, staunch to a cause and blind to counterpoints. Build your walls. You need them.

As Tracy reminded me last night when someone mentioned the Blue Collar Comedy phenomenon sweeping the country, "Don't worry about them. There's enough room for everybody." I have to remember that I should do what counts when it matters. My act is up to me, and that's the only act I need to worry about.

Blaine's got a point. Why heckle at an open mic, if at all? It would be childish to trudge on in the same fashion, bullying the open mic'ers with loud heckling, just to spite them or Blaine's protection of them. I guess I'll have to do it because it's fun.

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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Better, Closer, Funnier

Last night's Underpants Open Mouth was as close to stellar as I've ever seen. The good comics got great responses, the newer guys who tried got good responses, and the Bellevue Salad Dressing of the comics got stared at or tagged on by the MC, Jeremy Whitman. Jeremy then had a big debate afterwards over his Rick Astley-ness.

Theme of the Night That Played Itself Out None Too Soon:
Rodger Lizzaola's Latino heritage. It almost got a head of steam, but as is prone with this kind of stereotyping, it stopped working early on.

Best Bald Comic:
Killorn O'Neill. That's a wig, has to be. Scott Meyer also RULED for like 10 minutes after his 3 minutes. To quote Scott: 'MONGO HAS A HAMMER?'

Best Resurrected Bit:
Duane Goad's revisitation to "The Stalker." That's all I'm saying.

Best Misuse of Stage Time: (TIE)
1) Stay positive... okay... I saw a guy go 0-for-6 on the joke scoreboard. Uncomfortable. And he's been doing it for a while, which is even more reason to quit. Pandered for a laugh to close on, got a round of stares. Poor bastard.
2) I won't drop a name here, keeping it postitive, but when starting your act with "I know what you're thinking... just another brown guy in a FUBU jersey," you kind of open yourself up for slagging. I don't understand why comics of skin color darker than off-white want to perpetuate divisive stereotypes through their material. Also, if you're going to set-up a tag line with "Oh, you may laugh..." make sure that people were, you know, laughing.

Best Post-Set MC Tag:
Jeremy tagging #2 above, who ended on a joke about not being allowed to wear adult diapers for fear of being teased. "See, you CAN shit on yourself in front of your friends." Jeremy is aaaawwwesoooooome. Dingly dangle doo.

I think that's enough out of me. I'm off to do whatever it is I do when the system's up and running here. It's not running, but I have screensaver I slapped together that looks like I'm working. Desk nap #2, on the way.

HAX-TV tonight! 10pm, Channel 77. Be there. Please?
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"It's funnier when you don't screw it up."

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Wow, So Glad I Got Up Today

Last night I did a show in Bellingham with Shoogs B. The 'Ham is a good hour and twenty from Lott's Love Lair and Lasagna Lanai, and we got home close to 1 in the ay-em. My brain was going about a killion miles a minute when I got home, as G-Bro and I had a great talk about our goals in comedy, life, women, and overall ripplage of musculature. See, guys can talk about things! Ha! I have debunked yet ANOTHER premise!

I finally crash out hard around 1:30, alarm set and off to sleepytown. I have a tendency to sleep on my right side, which, if you've ever read about a sleeping position's effect on dreaming, the right side can be very intense. It's the creative side of the brain, so as you can imagine, forced therapy via dreamland can turn into "Fantasia" before the talking monkey flips you the bird. I eventually forced myself out of a dream that involved a date from hell with a woman who wanted me to drive to her dad's house and help her kidnap him to prove my affection for her, but she wouldn't let me drive without trying to take the wheel. I took it as another sign that issues with your opposite-sex parent play out in your relationships, and those are really heavy, unfair bags to carry and trip over. I carry bags, too, but they're more like book-bags now. I lost that steamer trunk about 2 years back, that felt good. It's always a good thing to hear that my friends are going to try some therapy. FINALLY we can both admit how gloriously F'ed up you can get those first 30 years of your life. Freedom lies on the other side of baggage claim, courage propels you to try to pack lighter. Anyway, I slept on the couch to prevent rolling to my right for a second date.

I flop to the floor around 7:45 this morning and, lacking the strength to carry myself, seal-crawl to the first of three Monsters for a shot to the heart... and you're to blame. Eventually I muddle through the morning and get to work. I'm actually excited as I slide through the door, waving my security badge by the scan plate and never breaking stride. I felt pretty Mentos. I sit at my desk, ready to take on the day. I had a new Macro in mind I was going to write for a large reporting system, to save myself about 15 minutes per report, which comes out to saving an hour each day. Eventually I will have to work backwards to even out the time I'm saving by being tech-savvy. ANYhoot, I'm tired, invigorated by my declaration to not date women who don't like their dads, back-ached from couch sleeping, and excited to save some time while on the clock...
AND THE FRIGGING REPORTING SYSTEM IS BROKEN, THANKS TO THE PROGRAMMING SKILLS OF A CONTRACTOR WHO HAS NO VESTED INTEREST IN THE DAILY WORK OF THIS COMPANY. See, he gets paid by the hour. If he messes up, he simply must fix it. In effect, he doubled his pay for the week thanks to his own incompetence.
But don't worry. Offshoring is good for the economy. I think I will start selling "What Would Vishnu Do" bracelets. Packs of 8, natch. Welcome to America, enjoy the chintz. Time for a car nap. If I'm not back in 2 hours, my Lotto numbers came up, and I'll never see you again.

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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.