Blog About Potilical Simepplings

Gonna have to vote in a week. Go do it. It's your right as an American to vote. It's a right that was fought for by millions of people over the past 230 years. It's not a fun thing, per se, which is why they oughtta open all voting booths near food establishments. Christ, America is all about Capitalism and Special Interests anyway, go put a booth in a Krusty Krepes and people will turn out like a mid-70's Who concert.

Rock For Change campaign's running strong. Springsteen's stumping with Kerry. It's been a Summer/Fall-long run of people attending shows with the agenda of getting Bush out of office. Understoond. Most everyone's got an agenda. This one, however, eesh, I don't know. I am happy that public figures are making pleas to get us 'Mer'cans in the booths, but f*ck if I want a President voted into office by people who thought it was a great idea to camp overnight for a shot at seeing Jackson Browne open for the Dixie Chicks.

You get my point. It's voting for the sake of voting, and that's about all we're gonna get right now. However, I'm hoping and somewhat believing that people are educating themselves more deeply on the "issues" affecting our country: National Security, Health Care, Social Security, Terrorist Insurance, Hymen Rejuvenation, Whatever Tracy Tuffs Is Doing, Low-Carb Diets, and Tax Structures. Iraq does not affect our country. It affects Iraq, and I have no friends there, so I give a shit.

I'm voting to approve I-884, to get money into schools. I'm voting against I-892 so that slot machines won't pop up on every street corner, regardless of revenue opportunities. It cheapens the neighborhoods, the stores, and it's greatly hated by Jackson Browne.

That's a shitty call-back.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Where I Realize How Much Work I Must Do

So what is "hack" in comedy, according to other comics?
Pretty much everything on this list, and I'm sure I've done all of them at some point or another.

Well, I'm gonna be in the lab a lot longer than I thought. G'night.

I am off to Michigan to see my cousin get married off. I wish her the best of love and growth and warmth in this new stage of her life.
Thank you God, for open bars.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Full of Schwag

I would watch nothing but C-Span if it were anything like Taiwan's Governmental Debates.

"You've got no shame!" screamed Chu Fong-chih of the opposition Nationalist Party, after throwing a take-out box of chicken and rice at Chen Tsung-yi, a legislator from the ruling Democratic Progressive Party who backed the special budget.

As it stands now I feel like I keep hittin' the 984 minute mark of Rep. Gerry Manderbustin's filibuster on the evils of low-rise tube socks and short-cropped hair on the female children. Let's see a person from the right throw a left hook, then MAYBE we'll talk. Until then, I'm voting the Green Curry line! Get it! OH MAN, DOES THE FUN EVER START?
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I've Been This Excited Before
Puss And Boots. Two people get caught in a rainstorm, break into a shoe store, feel frisky, and get it on amongst the boots. It's gross. They were both drifters.
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And Now For Head's Up - 7Up
I think I'm on the Teacher's side here. Parent arrives in classroom, teacher and parent get into brawl, parent goes to hospital, teacher goes to jail. See Teacher Run. See Teacher Get Pepper Sprayed.
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Probably Because God Hates Gay Sports
I'm not sure if anybody saw it, but there is video going around of a figure skater being dropped on her face after her partner stumbled and dropped her on her face. I want this video to share with you, but all I can find is news of Lindsay Lohan on the come-back from a high-fever. If you've seen the video you know the devastation of which I speak. I plan to implement it in my upcoming arm-wrestling match with Tony "Mousey On Jam Shorts" Moser.




Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Moses On Jamba Juice

He's at it again.
You probably have no idea who I'm talking about since he's mostly diapers with a car.

Tony "Moses On Jamba Juice" Moser is up in the grill of yours truly, making attempts to rattle my gilded mic stand. I've tried to listen to the underlying message of his rantings about me. I've let the words fall aside and squinted so that I may look not at the mirrors, lava lamps, and smoke drifting from Moser's breathing holes, but at the intent of those words. Well I saw that intent my friends. And it was blank.

He was basically typing just to hear himself type. He's now taking credit for the songs written by bands such as Poison and Slaughter. He's stealing. He's plagiarizing the work of these men he so very much desires to look like in order to, basically, steal the clout of one Bradford Whitcomb Ainsely Undersworth Brake III. Keep trying, Mose.

I'm admit, I am NOT in Tony's league. I skipped it on my way to "confoundingly astonishing" at 3 months into this whole comedy thing. Tony sees me outside of his league, but he's so backwards that he believes he's looking behind him and there he sees me, but actually, I'm AHEAD of him, and he's forgotten what the future looks like. He's living in the past. Actually, he's living in a dreamworld populated by aromatic midgets, and he thinks it's the future. In reality, he's living in his mom's closet again. Nice pants, Gay Lord.

Deal with Moser any way that you must, but remember this: He is only out to please ONE PERSON; And when that woman of ill repute comes along Tony will finally quit comedy and become her lap dog. And maybe THEN, she'll realize what a real man it takes to do it the way it's done by Bradford Ainsmob Whitforth Underpants the Broken VII.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Travel and Self-Censorship

I fly out to Michigan on Wednesday morning. Not sure which airline it is. I usually don't look, care, or pack until an hour before I'm leaving for the airport.

That's not true. I'm past that phase of life. I have had those trips where I'm f*ck off until the last 3 hours before I am supposed to be at the airport, sweating my way through packing useless items. I am 30 years old, for crying out loud, I should know that I need at LEAST a toothbrush, a t-shirt, one pair of underwear, and a decent book for a week away from home. I can do that. And I'm flying which means I'll be packed in a tube of "who's who in day tripping."

I think I'm going to fake some sort of 'tard so that I can get whatever I want on the plane. Nothing violent, but if someone is leaning all over me, I'm gonna get in their pie face and tell them in hushed tones "This is the last time you will ever fly if you don't quit coloring in that book, f*cksock." It seems that I go on every flight with an air of adventure and loving travel, and everyone else gets on it with "F*CK THESE PEOPLE, I AM GOING TO JAM THIS CARRY ON AND THIS LAPTOP AND THIS DOG AND THIS INCAN MATRIMONIAL HEADDRESS INTO THIS COMPARTMENT WITH MY BALLBAG ON THIS GUY'S SHOULDER BECAUSE I HAVE THE RIGHT TO!" AAAAH, there's where people 'tard themselves, their "Rights."

To have a "right" means you are justifiably allowed to do something. I think a lot of people confuse their "rights" and their "opportunities." Just because one may have the opportunity to neck-chop a 90 year old man staring at the cashier who just asked him "Paper or plastic," well, you don't really have the right to the aforementioned choppage. You have the right to make money for performing tasks, but you may also have the opportunity to steal from your employer. Even if it's just ONE time, giving away a handjob makes for a angry peeimp. na NA na NAAAH!

I feel privileged to fly, because it's not as cheap as it seems to be when you're going cross-country with a stop in Minneapolis. Not everyone can fly, especially if they are well-mannered and without a 3 year-old colicky snot monkey who wants "Seb-up NOW!" Seven Up? Severance Benefits? Spongebob? Don't know. Don't care. Quiet the kid down. So, do I have the right to a comfortable flight, where comfortable means "surrounded by people at 6:45am who just want to SLEEP GAWDDAMMIT?!?! I feel I DO have that right. So I'll make sure to get a notebook in order to manage my thoughts as I tell people to put their seatbacks up, wash their pits, and point out, quite loudly, that their ballbag is resting on my fake baby.

Have a great Tuesday, my friends.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Regarding The Wrong Joke At The Wrong Time

Here's a joke I did this past weekend that each crowd groaned on.

"I enjoy my status in life, every now and again being treated to a dinner of exotic foods. Tonight we sat down to eat and had, let's see, Crab-stuffed Lobster Tail... then we had Veal-stuffed Lamb-shank, and for dessert we ate a black baby."

People groaned for one reason only.
They thought the baby was ALIVE. NO NO NO. It was dead, unlike those monkies whose brains are eaten while they kick away under the table.

I was upset they groaned, because they didn't even seem to register that I had never eaten a black baby before. Not that I particulary enjoy the dessert baby, but perhaps it was that I was eating a baby with dark skin, which would make them racist to think THAT is why I ordered that child. I did NOT. I have eaten babies of all ethnicites in the past, really mowed through them at all hours of the night. How come nobody groaned about the Caucasian shorty? What of the Laotian infant who met it's fate in the winter of '97? Succulent, yet not sympathized over. That crowd was racist.

I also snuck the word "wigger" in, but shyed away from material on "fisting," "anality," or "religion."
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About The Weekend and Such

I saw a license plate that read "HOUSE4U."
Is it odd, to anyone else, that the word "house" is a conjugation of "ho use?" That's how it all started.
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Did she fake it?

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All of this past weekend's comedy was fun. 2 sets that were amazingly fun to have storked for the paying customers. 2 sets that were thrown sideways a bit by other people, one by my decision, one by fum-lucking-duck.

This past weekend I participated in a "showcase contest" where the winner was chosen by the audiences. We paired off 8 comics to go "head to head" over 2 nights, open game, winners vs. winners, and so on as it continued until there was one comic voted to have had the best set of the two with the most wins. Also referred to as "Round Robin."

I guess I can't write this as a recap. I had a set on Saturday night, first show, that defined what I'd like to get to as far as performances. The seats were sprinkled with high school-age kids in fancy dress, on their way to a dance of some sort. Cool. For them. I launched my mind out of my body and felt like I flew aroud the room as I told these kids that, even though they felt very powerful, it's aaalll bullshit. High School, the American Dream, Popularity, it's all crap played up by movies and people who, after high school, will see their popularity quickly fade. I know that I wasn't saying anything ground-breaking or sea-parting, in the big picture, but that room full of people were happy that I was going so loudly and heartily into it, face to the wind, weaving in and out just for show. So why reflect so masturbatorially on this all?

Because in that moment I was totally myself, unhinged and uncorked and fully loaded. A forward-thrusting expression of ad-libbed verbiage sprung forth like a kite in the wind, balanced by a tail with knots of pre-determined punchlines to jokes written many sets ago. All I could think of as I saw those kids walk in, besides "Where were these chicks when I was in High School? Oh right, the 2nd grade"... all I could muster inside myself was to tell them that the grades matter to people who never got out of school. School provides opportunities to relate factual information into daily life. But open eyes and hearts get us much further, faster, than walking around with a copy of Dostoyevsky under one tribally-inked arm, and a CD player held in their other hand, blasting Linkin Park's latest recipe for empowerment through revenge.

I got beat by 3 votes. It's never felt so great to be unpopular.

By the way, Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, among other things "The Brothers Karmazov." I've never read it because I haven't ever made a conscious decision to seek and take in the work. Glancing about a bit, I found a number of his texts on line. Existentialist. I should take time and check those out.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.
Here's this turd log trying to throw the "Rock On" sign. Does she understand that nothing about her music rocks? Should people stabbed for doing this? I think so.

The Blog Next To Tony's

So Tony "Moses On JambaJuice" Moser is at it again, trying to rattle my pots and pans. Ain't gonna happen.
See, I have a secret weapon. Last week I befriended a man who shall be referred to as "Dirt McGirt," or Dirt. You may remember him as Old Dirty Bastard, or Big Baby Jesus, from The WuTang Clan. Yeah, he my boy.

So I aks Dirt, "Hey Dirt, a lot of fools are trippin' on me lately, trying to run a pace that outspeeds they own shortcomings of paranoida, disempowering, and egotisticness and trying to step on my game, numsayn motherf(beep)ker? What da f(beep)k I'm a do?"

Dirt says to me, "First off, we need to work on your vocabalary and methods of communication. Second, it's important to remember that people are the products of environments that have longs since passed by. What you see now is like the starlight you see in the night when y'all know the words and the time is right. That light you see is what burned off that star a long time ago. It's getting to you now, but it can't hurt you, enjoy the burn, bruh. Just understand that you keep your head up, and you'll see starlight, you'll see your name in lights, and sometime you see up a ho's tights, word?"

I says "Word, Dirt. Word."

And then I hit the "Next Blog" button on Tony's screen and I got THIS, which throws down on Tony and everyone else but me like you would not believe. Holy crap. Check THIS OUT!
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Regularly Scheduled Blogging

Damn, what a week.

The Bostonian Buttplug at my work is off his head. Twice this week I've asked him to keep it down, but it's not working. His Boston RedSox are tied up in the ALCS with the Yankees, so he's strutting around like he's at least 5'5". Then the Patriots beat the Seahawks last week so he's been trying to sound like he's a proud father, but humbled all the same.
"Yeah boy, we really showed you guys what Championship football looks like."

I hate the pronouns people use when talking about sports teams. "We." I don't remember the Pats ever calling a play that went to a 5'3", 219lb fartback with emphysema and Samsonite eyebags. "You guys." Right, like the guys from Network Security suited up for the game. Right after their 2nd French Bread pizza and 4th handful of Halloween M&Ms. Then again, we got f*cked into paying for the stadium, so I think each week at least one tax-payer should be allowed to suit up and make the average pay of the team, and then take liberties with a hotel concierge.

Man, who keeps ripping in the elevator? I think it's in the metal work now.

I'm out for now.



Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Why I Was Up All Night

Last night's comedy pursuit quantum-leapt me to Marysville. This city is weird. It's got all the small town feel of Hoquiam, sans history. Do they sell drugs in Marysville? Can't say, didn't buy any there. Do the MAKE drugs in Marysville? Can't say, didn't swap recipes with the locals. What CAN I say? How about this:
When in Marysville, you can drive to a local convenience store and buy a scale. Saw it on the way out of town. Yeah. Not a bathroom scale. Not a produce scale. A druggin' scale. And yet, like so many of their mysteriously "late" girlfriends, nobody in Marysville acknowledges the issue.
Shawn Cain MC'ed the evening, dressed like a Shaolin Monk. I had to snatch the mic from his hand to do my set. Bob Lindsey did 3 minutes that did really well. Bob's biggest snafu is not knowing how to get off stage. Not that he's a stage hog, but he truly says "Okay, I guess I'm done, so I should go now and yeah, okay, thanks for laughing, okay... Shawn?" To that effect. I hope Bob keeps it as his calling card. It's actually pretty funny. I feel bad for saying "How about Bob, huh? I used to buy crank from him" when I got on stage, because that's NOT FUNNY. Bob, white pants? You're not supposed to wear white pants after Labor Day of the year 1926.

I had a good set at JR's Steakhouse. As good as it's gonna get there, from what I was told. I realized that when I am performing in a room that serves as a pool hall, dance floor, and vomitorium it's best to stick to the joke material, and not the story-line jokes. At least for me. The crowd that listened was with me. The ones who talked were, at first-through-15th glances, the kind of dudes who "ain't gonna listen to nobody no how, got it, FAGG*T???" I closed on 8 minutes of religion and politics, getting 3 applause breaks during one new bit on Advertising and Christianity. That's one I will have to deliver with a wrinkly brow and winky eye. People tighten up around the Lord.

James Inman headlined and did a great job, resurrecting his Wal-Mart bit that I friggin' love. It's one of the first I've ever heard him do. Yeah, uh huh, you don't hear THAT at Wal-Mart DO YA? NO! Nice work James, for the 20 minutes I saw of it. Then I had to go and comparison-shop the scales. I got some product to move.

Of course, it would have been GREAT to get home and fall asleep. Aaah, yes, that would be the way it's supposed to work out, no? Get home and be lights-out at 12-ish. SUPER. Couldn't happen though. Nope. Started getting really tired about 12-ish, get in bed to read... upstairs neighbor's TV is on. But I figure it'll go off in a bit. 1:30am, I'm knocking on the hog's door to get her to turn it down. Nothing. No answer. Lights on and all that. 2am, back up there, knocking. 2:30, knocking. Leave a note to let her know
A) She's ugly
B) Her TV is too f*cking loud. I even wrote down what show she was watching, and two lines from it. Does "Matlock" EVER go off the air?
5 minutes after my last trip upstairs, I hear her galumphing over to the front door. She likely got the note. The TV was off 5 minutes later. Silence at nearly 3am. Either she was stone-walling me or she's half-deaf. I once fell asleep listening to Metallica's "And Justice For All" on 8 in my headphones, so my hearing isn't THAT sensitive. Then again, I'm getting older and would prefer to not "nap" when my body demands 5 - 5.63 hours of sleep each night.

Some woodsy, tie-dyed sandal jockey is wearing toe-bells at work today. This also the same woman who raises llamas. Llama pictures at her desk. Llama sweaters, shirts, kerchiefs. To each their own, of course. But wow, it's unhealthy. It's not a hobby, it's an obsession. TINA, COME GET YOUR MEDS!
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"Can you turn off 'DAT FAN' ovah dayuh?"

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog That Puts A Knee Into Goldencrotch

Yet another shot has crossed the bow of the Lott Luxury Liner. I am often taking fire from other vessels and light artillery. Firing gives away one's position, however. You know that... you silly, dumb, wee spirit of a man. And again, You have fired.

You see, as I sit at my desk of gainful employment, listening to the perceived "funnies" of people also employed by the 2nd worst-managed company of all time - the first being whichever company Tony will sexually harrass into an early grave during his lifetime - I am reminded that just about everyone believes they can "bring the funny."
The lady obsessed with Smeagol and therefore doing his voice every 2.4 hours? "Funny."
The guy who brought in a squirt gun or 3 to "liven things up?" "Funny."
The Hortense Cumberpatch of a woman who will answer ANY question you have... For a Fee! Does it have to be the Right Answer? "Funny."
The gal who calls the other ladies "girlfriend"s? "Annoying," and "barren," yet to many, "funny."
The fella who laughs at his own quips, yet makes everyone else uncomfortable with his wild-eyed opportunistic jumping-in with a Sandler movie catch-phrase? "Funny."

It goes like this. I could really give 1.8 to 2.3 linear feet of corn-eyed butt trout as to how You get to your funny. But however you get to it, the party is on. Started LONG before I got there. Long before you did, also. So you get your Funny, and you Bring It. Got it? Don't say "Oh I left it in my other career," or "I can't follow Gervin." You put your name on the list, you go on-stage, and deliver funny by the shovel-load into the laps of laughter-horny crowd members.

Until THAT happens for longer than 11 minutes 47 seconds, I will see that Funny is always being Broughten, and therefore you need to take the pressure of Yourself to bring it. It's too heavy for you. Sorry champ. Maybe next set.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paying gig tonight in Marysville. Boast Toast.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog That Wonders Where That Last Blog Was Going

The comments from the previous blog were good. I think PJ is quite well-read, quite intelligent. Quite. And I'm due for a lesson on the world's economy, especially because I wade through it every day of my life on the way to and from my bed. I'm too close to the unemployment line. I need to step back and see if I am destined for it.
Aggressively stupid? In a blog? This is the most passive-aggressive stupidity there is. I can say anything about anyone here, be it rumor or party-camera-recorded incident, and what people really want is the DIRT. What do I think of him? What's her problem? What do I think of you? What do I want to see happen to them? Does she still drink that much? Who just called? And why?

See how it takes one person's death grip on a topic to spin Funny to Unfunny? Lamarckism? That's retro Darwinism, my friends, before the iguanas came to power. Funnier? I hope the F so.
Anyway, it's economically sound to pay people less to do the same work. Still it's hard to have a price tag slapped on your chest by someone who's already decided you're out of style. Let the new Imperialism begin.

Enh...


Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Where Darwin Gives A Knowing Look

Double Fatality Closes I-5.
Both men were on foot, crossing I-5 at night. I'd be traumatized if they hadn't been injured. Not that they should be, but it's two guys making yet another thick-headed decision that will negatively affect an innocent person. When will it ever end?
Rhetorical, obviously.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Where Accupressure's Getting The Better of Me

Another episode of HAX-TV is in the can. It was organized a notch or a notch-point-seven better than a rugby scrum. I thought it was entertaining. Most entertaining was Tony Moser's finesse at the organ. Insert pun here. Insert. Pun again.
Apparently the term "midwifery" is pronounced "mid-wiff-ery," as properly dictated by a woman who likely hasn't worn makeup since last Halloween. Odd that she hung in through the entire show, snooted it up, then slammed-down her home phone. Home phone? OOOOOH, she's all kinds of RICH!

Thanks to Killorn and Shoogs B for the talented repartee. Rap partay. Kick ass.

I'm going to fight off insomnia tonight with some accupressure patches, little soft-rubber cones placed at the base of my palm to stimullllllllllllllllarte... stim......................... stimulate the sleepy what. I donm'''''''''''''''' think i ts workin
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Where I Don't Care For A Bit

I have no desire what-so-ever to be at this job today. I headlined a comedy show this past weekend, and now I'm running over spreadsheets. People say "doing what you love to do and getting paid for it is the recipe for happiness."
Guess what? That's 1/2-true. Getting paid enough to make a living out of what you love to do is the recipe for happiness. I'll work a day job, that's fine, but wow, to deal with a guy who brushes his teeth with his ass after feeling like I'd tapped my higher being? Tell me who that gives me a happy feeling?

Watch HAX TV tonight, Ch. 77, 10pm. Please?

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog That I Decide to Yell At The Computer In

Second time now, my keyboard shortcuts erased funny blogging.
FAWK.

IRONY:
I work for a cellphone company, and the worst phone ettiquette of all time is right here in this company. If you're indoors, turn your phone off. You'll hear it vibrate if you're near it. If you leave, and the ringer's on, then your cube neighbors all get to ponder what kind of jerkhole leaves their cellphone on, and what kind of human consciously chooses "Fur d'Elise" in 1's and 0's to express themselves via communication device. IF YOU'RE NEAR IT, YOU'LL HEAR IT. Vibrate or die.


IRONY:
The monkies on whom science has tested numerous vaccines are now so scarce that science fears running out of monkies to test vaccines of the new superbugs on. In the meantime, a massive flu and cold bug-outbreak has gripped London. Thank YOU Simon, Ruth, and Nigel. Step up for a vaccine test, and get a can of sardines! We'll not tell a soul you're on the dole. It'll be our li't'l whispers.

SWEET:
Comics rejoice! Itemize your deductions and get an extra $500 credit! What the chunk am I saying? Comedians ITEMIZING tax deductions such as mileage, gas, food, morning-after pills, and Axe BodySpray to cover up 3-day road-trip swamp ass? Right. There's a better chance James Inman will write an "airline food" set.

IRONY:
The value of your education is apparent only to you. I hope you studied Odds are that a college degree won't mean SHYTE to employers very soon. When a company decides to tap the work resources of a nation that speaks English as a 3rd language, you can bet that they are saving money at all costs. When your President says he's created 800,000 new jobs, make sure those jobs aren't all going to people who don't mind eating with a fly on their eye. So what's the next wave of employment? Self-contracting. Yep. You will be your own boss. Ask for a little more money, take care of your receipts and your benefits, and never again work for a company that doesn't give two kebabs about who it's hiring.


I work 3 cubes away from a guy wearing a XXL t-shirt, running pants, and slippers at work. You know what the sound of failure is? The "zwip-zwip" of nylon in the IT department. And those pants aren't for exercise, those are for random desk-nap comfort levels. And he's from America. Kennewick, to be exact. Oh... now I get it. We. Are. Slobs.
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The Blog Regarding Saturday, etc.

Saturday at Laughs was a totally different world.
Holy crap, there were easily 95 people in that room. Imagine your gramma's rec room. Pack that with 10 more people than you should have in there. Multiply that by 5. Welcome to Fire Safety Night at Laughs.
There was some great grass-roots advertising done by Chilidog via the ever-growing mailing list, as well as word of mouth and my own e-mail efforts to get folks to come out to the show. It's much more fun with a big audience. How much fun? Well...

Dan Moore started it off. Killed. Geoff Brousseau hit 2nd. Killed. Blaine Reeder goes 3rd. As Blaine put it he was "working (his) ass off" for that crowd. Admittedly, they were a little reserved. I think it was the heat in the room. Or, according to a previous blog of Blaine's about why a comic won't do well... ya know what, skip that. I attest to the fact that there was a table of 3 in the front that was pretty White and crossy-armed. Fahim Anwar, duh, destroyed. Fawk, that guy is so good, and he's going to F it up with a degree in engineering. I know him "when." Duane W. went up before me. And, uh... I don't know. He's got Funnies.

Then I went up and did a little roast of the openers. My personal favorite roast:
"So Blaine Reeder, give it up for him! That guy's really quite funny, but he's got some problems as you may have gathered. I would pray for Blaine but he doesn't like me talking behind his back." I thought it was rathah wittay. Hmmph.

And for the next 49 minutes I knocked out the best set of my life. I had so much fun it was ridiculous. And I think it carried over to the non-laughing table in the front. They were laughing, then commenting on some of my material. Regardless, I had fun because I WANTED to have fun, I told myself to go HAVE FUN before I went on stage. And being in that mood, I believe, came out in my demeanor. Smoke & mirrors? Not only the main decor of the back of Laughs, but also a little trickery to get people to want to laugh? Perhaps. But damn if I didn't have a horse-carcass worth of fun on Saturday night.

Of COURSE I didn't tape it! That would've made SENSE, huh? Frickin' FRACK.
Thank you to Geoff, Killorn, Tony, Doug, Blaine, Fahim, Dan, and Duane W. for their opening efforts. You're all funny as hell. Tony Moser, well, good enough for open mic'ing. Thanks again to Dave Dennison for headlining me. Thanks to Terry for not believing in me and making me want to work harder in the past year to get better. Thanks to Pat Cashman for the air time on Friday morning. Thanks to all of you who came out to support live comedy and have a laugh.

Life can suck. If you don't make fun of it, you will become Life's Bitch. Stab hypocrisy your first day in lock-down. Run your yard.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog on Columbus Day

Christopher Reeve died today at the age of 52, 9 years after his paralyzing fall from a horse. Rodney Dangerfield died last week at the age of 82 from a stroke suffered during yet another bypass surgery. Great men. Great lives. And I'm sure a lot of great jokes to follow. I'll let you know what I hear.
If it's true that celebs die in 3s, here's hoping for Ashton, Paris, or Carson Daly. I strive to make the most of my performing abilities, my gifts and blessings, and William Hung is currently tag-teaming the Theta Ate A Beta chapter of North Texas U. Welcome to celebrity.
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I Just Bought Me Some BLING!
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Weekend Recap

So. You'd like to know how the weekend went, huh? You weren't able to make it over to Bellevue to see a show, huh? Well you missed a couple of great shows. Here's a little of what you missed...

Friday Night
Laughs was PACKED. Probably 90% capacity, as in they could probably only fit another 10 people in the room if they really tried. 80-90 people in the audience. It was great to see that many people show up for comedy. We need those crowds, we WANT those crowds!
An awesome show, from the first comci to the guy before the headliner. Doug, Blaine, Brousseau, Killorn, and Tony all showed the crowd why it's good to laugh, and hard to make you do so. I felt kind of bad because another local comic, Steve Nielsen, showed up and wanted to do time. I had asked the other comics to show up and perform, and they did, so I didn't want to bump them. 3 of them weren't at Saturday's show, so I was hoping Steve could come back when he could surely get up. Wasn't gonna work out for him on Saturday.

Steve, being a veteran of the Seattle Comedy Scene (been around longer than me), it's likely the he should never get bumped from a list. He's a great comic and writer, one of my favorites. I had no time nor care over whether anybody's feelings were going to get hurt. My hope is that Steve wasn't upset. If not, then even cooler is the Steve. If so, well, sorry Steve, not much I can do at that, or this, point. To spell it out, this is a glimpse of the Politics of Performing. Not everyone's going to be happy. Especially after I get off stage.

Decent set Friday night. I was very tired as I was at work until 1am for a bunch of crap work. Fawk, that's ridiculous. To come to work just so you can make someone else look good? But I fully learned that, if I'm DOING A SHOW, not just guesting or MC'ing, but if I am the headliner, I have NO excuses, I must PERFORM. I learned that early Saturday morning. I went dancing at Misty's in Bellevue on Friday after the show. Misty's attracts an eclectic crowd. Everything from swingers of all ages, to handsy Middle-earth men sweatin' it up in gabardine.
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Saturday to follow Friday. Funny how shit works out, huh?

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The Blog Where I'm At Work At 12:20 At NIGHT

First off, I crossed paths with Jake Dill again tonight at The Wok of Shame in Lynnwood. I thought I was headlining, but it turns out that Jake was. It's the first time I was out of a paying gig and felt happier than, well, Jake Dill, for starters.

Taster's Wok (a.k.a. "The Wok," "The T-Hole") sucks for comedy. The only person I've seen do really well there is Heneghen. If you know Heneghen's act, you know it will kill in a club or the lounge of a Chinese restaurant. They LOVE Heneghen there, and everyone else is just some schlub with a dream of getting out of Lynnwood without eye herpes or a paternity suit. On his first day of work, Ronnie liked to wear his best paternity suit. Then get shat-housed at The Wok.

I did about 15 minutes, some of it okay, and dammit, I got the biggest laughs on toilet humor. I think the bit is funny, because it illustrates a low point of my day at work where I realize that my co-workers may appear to be in their 30s, but are actually just 3rd Graders with Debit Cards and a hankering for bagged snacks and Mt. Dew by the gallon. So yeah, potty humor. Doo it.

The funniest thing about it was that people were listening, even with their backs turned at the bar. And even better, if not funny, was that two other properly drunk car detailers - I'm guessing by the thin beard/double earring/necklace trifecta - were trying to pull tail while the show was going on. One guy was named "F*ckin' Todd, man," so exclaimed as he exited the bar, door-right, making a phone call. They didn't let the fact that some other guy was talking louder than them interrupt their attempts to get shot down in public. Good for you, F*cking Todd, man! Who prefaces their name with "F*cking?" Todd, that's who. I use it when I'm angry at somebody. Best I could tell, Todd's made enough bad decisions to be mad at Todd for at least another 3 years, or whenever he drinks himself into a faceplant coming out of The J&M. Goodbye CarStars, Hello Comedy Career!

Van Halen's coming to town again. Anybody think Al Foxx is nervous? The last one turned his life around, after disengaging said life from that rogue panel van. Red is for ROCK & ROOOOLLLL!!! Oh, and Stop. Inside joke, kind of. I can tell those kind of jokes because they're funny.

Okay, I gotta get some sleep. This is ridiculous.
Catch my TV appearance in November. You watch "World's Wildest Police Videos," right?
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Note to self: Peanut Butter & Chocolate = Natural Enemies

Take Me Home

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The Blog After Wednesday

I have no time to link anything right now. Deal with it.
Had a lot of fun last night comedying for the people of the Puget Sound. The Underpants Aspen Comedy Festival/Vancouver Comedy Day tryouts were first. It sucked. The crowd was a quiet-laughing crowd, except for the yappy dipass in the 2nd row who reminded me of a kid who had too much sugar and inattentive parents. Crazy Mark Spitz-looking motherfudger. Big ups to Jake Dill on his set. He had as good a set as was gonna happen in a room full of nicey-nice Seattle people. Then again, the odds are that I just wasn't funny enough to get 'em. New material, new delivery, I'm trudging onward. Unaffected, overall. Oh well. It'll all come around again. I'm sure the Chatty Spitz will shoot at me tonight in Lynnwood.

The Pegasus show was kick ass. I had a monster vocab night. Nothing too crazy, like "versimilitude" or "cran-apple-icious," but I did throw down with "carte blanche," "melange," "debaucherous," and "fisting." Got an applause break on that last one. I really should have memorized my set-list, but why, when it will all go out the window tonight at Taster's Wok in Lynnweird? You wanna see what comedy in the Northwest is really all about? Be at the Wok by 9pm tonight. Bring your spittin' pants. Big ups to T-Mose and The D.Gale for their support. Tony did nearly 7 minutes after getting lost, having only been to Pegasus like 10 times AND getting directions from everyone and their parole clerk. SLOPPY, Tones. Sloppy.

Tomorrow Morning! 8:10a.m., KJR-FM 95.7! Yours Truly on the Pat Cashman show! Tune in! Call in! Request a tune! Send me money! I'll be promoting this weekend's shows at Laughs, as well as HAX-TV, and the Seattle Comedy scene in general.

I'm off for some Thai food now. I ain't had Thai for a long Thaime.
Should have stopped at the Radio thing, huh?

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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.