I'm Just A Love Machine

Short post today. I'm leaving soon for Arkansas, where I'll be hosting this week at the Loony Bin in Little Rock. It's my first out-of-state booking! Come check it out if you happen to be in the Little Rock area. And if you want to hang out, we could go see Billy's Bibliotheque.

Next week will see the release of the first CD to include my comedy. It's a 77-minute monster, packed full of performances and interviews with local comedians. If you love comedy or mental illness, you'll probably get something out of it. Special thanks to James for putting the CD together and for planning the CD Release Show at Opolis on Friday, February 15. Come check it out if you happen to be in central Oklahoma.

In the meantime, you can listen to some of my new stuff from last night. I'm Just A Love Machine

Them Other Fuckers Don’t Know How To Act.

At the risk of a beatdown from the Tiny King Of Face-Kicking, Mr. Chuck Norris, let me me the latest to say: Gov. Huckabee is a jackass. Mike Huckabee, on the other hand, is a really cool guy that I'd like to befriend. He's warm, affable, seems to care about people, but then says some of the stupidest, craziest shit I've ever heard. The Book of Genesis is a literal history book, gay sex = bestiality, rapists should be let out of prison if they raped a Clinton, income tax is evil, and states should be free to honor relics of bigotry and treason. Fantastic. Stay in the race, you unelectable nutjob. Make Mitt or Rudy or John or whoever spend some serious time and treasure to win back the soft-headed Bush-lovers who want you to bring them four more years of this crap.

So, anyway... I'm hosting at the Loony Bin in Oklahoma City with Susan Smith and Marge Tackes this week. You might know them as The Untamed Shrews. Also, be forewarned that "these bitches is outta control." They're also incredibly nice people and some of the filthiest performers I've ever seen. Last night was fun, especially the late show. It may be apocryphal, but I've head a quote attributed to Steve Martin that the Friday Late Show is why he no longer does standup comedy. People work all week, get home, start drinking and by the time 22:30 rolls around they're either ready to pass out or a *touch* belligerent. Add to it that a lot of people are just generally boorish and ill-mannered. Kinda sucks. But, I love the late shows. I don't know why, but I usually have a great time with the audiences.

Last night was no exception. I had a really good set, but once I got to the business end of it all, a table up front decided it was time to start talking, loudly, as though I were a television commercial to be ignored until the program returns. I had to stop twice and scold them, once verbally and once with a glare that only substitute teachers ever perfect. After I got off the stage, the club owner told me it was "awesome," and that she'd never seen an emcee stop like that to make people stop talking. It was a few minutes later that she got on the phone and got me my first out-of-state booking. That's right, *this guy* is gonna be going to a little place called "Little Rock" next month. Jealous? Yeah, I thought so.

As my brother pointed out yesterday, Friday night is cool. Well, really he was quoting Butthead. Yes, a direct Butthead quote from my MENSA-joining lawyer of a brother. But both he and Butthead are correct. Friday Night is cool.

If You Want Some More, Come And Get Some More.

Happy Thanksgiving. I've posted my set from the Loony Bin last night. It's very similar to the set I did at Othello's on Tuesday, with just a couple of new jokes. Someone was at the club last night scouting for a (I'm guessing Christmas) show next month, looking for "clean" material. I said to myself before the show "well, he's not gonna like this shit, but whatever." I guess "clean" means something different than I thought, because he liked it. Who'd have guessed? Anyhow, thanks for reading, thanks for listening, and thanks for all your encouragement. I feel truly blessed to be able to do something I enjoy so much and have other people dig it, too.

Have a second helping.

I Should Be Grateful, I Suppose, And Compare You To A Summer's Rose.

One of the most appealing aspects of religion is the way that shitty events get explained away as "God's will," or "the Universe trying to teach us a lesson," or whatever.

It's kinda true, though. Well, I'm not going to go on record either way on the whole is-He-or-isn't-He (or She or It or Them) question, but I have found that shitty events can be made to serve us. Buddhist thought, for instance, finds reasons to be grateful for failure, persecution and violent tragedy, and not just because those experiences help to burn away bad Karma (or sin, if you will). They help individuals to reflect on themselves, their past and the Universe in general. Pretty neat, huh? Most of your non-Odin-based religions have similar tenets, and I'm honestly torn from day to day as to whether or not the lemonade is real or just a means to keep chumps under control.

I got a chance to test it out last week, though. It was Wednesday, and I was on my way to the Loony Bin for the evening show. It's my first time hosting a normal Loony Bin show, and I want it to be great. Part of my ritual, when I can do so, is to feast upon a falafel and hummus from Gyro's Etc. in the shopping center across Rockwell from the Loony Bin. Best falafel ever.

Seriously.

Only sometimes they have trouble with my debit card, and I'm left with no way to pay for said delicious falafel, as I usually don't carry cash (note to muggers: I'm not worth it!). So, I decide to stop at a nearby ATM to get some cash. Now, I'm not going to name the financial institution, so let's just say that their name rhymes with "CHASE RANK." I pull up to their outdoor ATM, put my card into the green blinking card slot, and wait. For those of you curious about what blinking green lights mean, let just tell you, they don't mean "happy to serve you, sir!" The actual meaning is closer to "I'm hungry! Give me your fucking debit card now, asshole! Mmm... yummy debit card! It's mine now, fucker! HA HA HA HA HA!" Some of that is a little idiomatic, but you get the drift.

I am now sans card. I have already established I have no cash. So, I'm left with my checkbook. I might as well be paying people in fucking Confederate Dollars, because the thing has an address from two homes and one city ago. So, great. Thanks CHASE RANK! You guys "rock!"

By the way, if a machine grabs your card and won't give it back, that shit is GONE! No way you will get it back, it gets shredded immediately.

So, I drive to Wal-Mart, where I bank ('cause I'm a high-fuckin' roller!) to cash a check so I can, you know, pay for food and gasoline. I order a new card while I'm there, expecting that I'll have it by the end of the week. No, 5 to 7 days I am told. No, wait, 5 to 7 BUSINESS days. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! How hard is it to stamp out a damn card and put it in the mail? Are these things hand-crafted by a one-eyed master back in the Ozarks somewhere? Like, it's just him, a whittlin' knife and a big 'ol block o' plastic, perhaps? Because why else in the world would it take one of the biggest banks in the area a fucking week and a half to replace one lousy DEBIT CARD?!

But I digress.

I get the cash, I get the information, and more importantly, I get a nice dose of hate. It pushes out the nervous, the anxious, the oh-boy-I-gotta-do-good-tonight vibe in my head and replaces it with icy hot anger. I turned in a great performance that night, and like a good little method actor I had that nugget of hate at my disposal for the rest of the week, just smoldering in my back pocket where my debit card used to be.

So thanks, CHASE RANK ATM, you malfunctioning piece of shit. I hope you get struck by lightning.

And It Gives Me Something To Laugh About, 'Cause My Real Life Ain't Fucking Funny.

Nathan told me recently that comedy at the club level is all about selling beer.

There's something disturbing, yet comforting about that idea.

When I think about the performances of great comedians like Lenny Bruce or Richard Pryor, I focus so much on how groundbreaking they were and how amazing their material was that I forget the rooms were full of people who just wanted to have a good time. They didn't necessarily care about changing the rules of our culture or shining lights on the dark, hypocritical corners of society. They wanted to laugh, be with their friends and have a drink. If they weren't there buying tickets and booze and shitty, stale bar food there wouldn't be a club in the first place. And Lenny and Richard would just be some really funny homeless guys.

So thank you, beer-swilling crowds. You make it possible for me to do something I love. No matter how much you may suck, nor how much you may hate everything I say or do, I will always love you, just for showing up and spending your money.

Next week will be my one year anniversary of doing comedy, and I'll be hosting at the Loony Bin all week, doing my level best to sell some beer.

Come see me.

In the meantime, check out my set from Tulsa last week.



Or download

Didn't Mean A Word Of It

What a great crowd this week at the Loony Bin. Usually "I hate women" is the setup for a joke, not a laugh line. Wow. I should point out, again, that I don't actually hate women. Just so we're clear. In fact, most of what I say on stage is a lie. But don't tell anyone.

You can hear my set, short as it is, right here: Listen

He Who Fucks Nuns Will Later Join The Church

I feel like I avenged myself tonight. I had a setlist. I had themes. I had callbacks (planned). I had a dead pope joke. By the way, I was feeling reverential this afternoon, and tried to create something that expressed that reverence and respect for God. This is how it turned out. Listen.

By the way, it was Pope Formosus.

Love Is Watching Someone Die

I felt a lot of love tonight. My friends came out and listened to jokes I had told less than 24 hours before. And they still laughed. The audience wasn't quite as into it, and I don't blame them. I need to write stuff that's more accessible. Really, I don't know what I was thinking. I came up with a minute on a Catholic strip club and I actually thought "this is it! This is universal! This will win them over!"

I just don't understand people.

Listen and/or download it - April 18 2007

You Think You're Dialed In? Someone Has To Win. And You Know What That Means? That Means Someone's Got To Lose. It's Probably You.

Last night I gave a shitty performance. I blame no one but myself. I fucked it up. Pure and simple. I can shake that off pretty easily. I might just have to put down Dog Phone, though. God help me, I love that bit so much, but no one else does. C'est la guerre. I actually got heckled, which was a first for me. I don't see it as a failure, though. I learned some important lessons about taking the performance seriously, and about not expecting too much from the audience. Especially when they've had a few good hours to get drinks in themselves. Like I said, it's pretty easy to shake off.

Tonight at the Loony Bin I gave a great performance. It just wasn't good enough, though. Now that's a shitty feeling. It's times like these that I wish I had never gotten good grades or done well on standardized tests. I'm used to exceeding expectations, and I'm so conditioned to judge myself based on the external validation that comes from other people judging me and deeming my actions awesome. That's what the laughter is all about, right? But let me tell you, comedy is not a standardized test. It isn't a research paper on international media systems. There are no guarantees that your hard work will pay off. It is totally subjective. At the same time, I don't want to downplay the achievements of the (at least) 8 people who were found funnier than me tonight. I got beat. It happens. I'm proud of all my friends that made it to the finals at the Loony Bin, and I'll be there on Sunday to cheer them on. But the overachieving Phi Beta Kappa super-nerd within me is having a nice little identity crisis. And one of the nice things about comedy is that until recently, that square-tied little fucker didn't even know what I was up to. Each time I went up I got laughs or I didn't, and that was it. But in the past couple of weeks it's become about competition. And yeah, I know my perspective would be different if I were one of the 8 finalists competing on Sunday. Well, I'm not sure, actually. I always look forward to performing, even at a sketchy south town strip club. But I was fucking dreading my 5 minutes at the Loony Bin tonight.

Oh well, it's over now. And by the way, I am not fishing for compliments here, nor do I want anyone to try and make me feel better about any of this. I am quite confident in my ability to make people laugh, and I do not want to feel better about losing. I want to cling onto my disappointment and frustration like the last blanket in the Siege of Leningrad.

After all, I've earned it.