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.

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

And I Swear There's Something Evil In The TV

Anyone who has talked to me in the past six months probably knows just how much I like the show Heroes. It's awesome. Watch it. Watch it and then talk to me about it. Seriously.

I love that show for many reasons, not the least of which is Sylar. He has got to be one of the creepiest, most engrossing villains I've ever seen in literature. That's right, I just called a network television series "literature." Deal with it. It's got me thinking about villains, monsters, and antagonists in general. They're a key part to any story. Without villains and their evil machinations, a story is just a series of occurrences. Boring.

When I was in fourth grade we put on a play based on the story of Pecos Bill. There was something wrong with the script, and even I could tell. It took a while to figure out what it was, but eventually I realized that there was no villain. There was no Shere Khan, no Captain Hook, no big ass shark. We had a tornado for a villain. Boring.

I've tried to inject a little antagonism into my comedy. I really can't believe that it took me this long to see the importance of challenging an audience. I'm not there make friends, after all.

Anyway, blah blah blah. I've got a show on Tuesday and Wednesday next week. Blah blah blah. Oh, also, I've got a video in the Tenth Annual Open Film And Video Screening at the IAO this Friday. Seven o'clock, five dollars, eighth and Broadway in downtown Oklahoma City. Good times.

Until then, feast your eyes on one of my greatest award-not-winning performances ever. Watch it. [Late Edit: Yes, Laura, there was no audio. Thanks for letting me know. I've reposted the performance, with audio, and with a clip of me giving a short, shitty interview at the end. "Enjoy."]