From Hot to Cold to Contemptible

2005-11-27T22:14:00.002-08:00

What a weekend. A Thanksgiving Eve show, with a bunch of my local buddies, that went well but was me going off on a tangent about how there are no comedy risks, including referring to anal sex as "Girl Interrrupted." Sigh. Then Thanksgiving night and the following evening with Dave Chappelle. Its unbelievable when this guy walks in the room. You'da thought Ludacris just won a grammy. He can do no wrong at this point with his fans, as he self-efacingly called his routine "Season 3." I had torn the audience's guts out Thanksgiving night with what I would consider one of my best sets. Everything dropped that I tried. And you can't help but have a half-a-chub when you rip it up in front of one of your idols. The next night, not so much. I did okay, but hey- they're here to see Dave Chappelle and I was just some white boy. Que sera, guero... I battled up there for any decent laugh I got, and it didn't go too bad, or as the always ravishing Jimmy at Wiley's put it: "They couldn't have give to shits about ya..." There is something about looking like the All-American white boy that a more urban crowd doesn't dig. I think sometimes they're under the assumption since I'm a cracker under 30 years old and I use pansy products in my hair I,ve got it made..."What could a caucasian named Eric possibly tell us that we should care one iota of a shit-nugget about, he's probably never had a hard day in his life!!" Excuse me, I have to go check and see if my government check just for being of European descent has come in the mail yet..DRAT!! Still no extra advantage provided from a non-existent outside source. But what the hell, I had one night at least in front of the hottest comic working to prove I had the stones to be in the same business, let alone the same room. I was walking on nicotine-fumed air....Until Saturday night: In which I did a nightmare of a show in Aurora, Indiana in front of maybe 18 people who still hadn't realized the Doobie Brothers were never getting back together. To say the place was out in the middle of nowhere, would have suggest it had the honor of being at the center of something. You knew you had found it once you hit a deer. The audience was (and at this point I've learned enough not to insult people by calling dumb) FUCKING RETARDED!! Not "I'm gonna get a job at Wendy's and show people I can still be a part of society" retarded, but "I've got almond-shaped-eyes and the lack of sense to disregard a fascination with my own pee" retarded. One guy named Eugene had just gotten a brand new pair of cowboy boots from his girlfriend for his birthday-woo fuck-hoo.

He wasn't so bad, he was trying to fake enjoyment, albeit futile. But this one Lawn-manatee in particular named "Al", whom I had the dubious pleasure of encountering before, would not shut his fat fuckin' Wal-Mart mouth. I even tried some relationship material to get the conservative tub-a-shit to quiet down, but he had that typical God Bless America, arms folded, not gonna smile one bit at this young little bastards thing going. At one time I lost my cool (oh, what a fucking rarity) and told Al to shut the fuck up. Again, Al, unabated, mocked me and disdainfully said "ooh that was scary." OK. You got me there. Lemme tell you what is scary, Alvin. Can I call you Alvin? That you are most of what America is: Fat, Unwavering, Unmoving, God-fearing, Nigger-hating, Biggoted, Balding, Bloated, Flag waving, Fag hating, Egotistical, Dickheaded, Egomaniacal Ford Truck driving redneck slack-jawed pig-eyed lumps of shit that tug on thier pathetic dune worms at night over the thought of another George W. Bush speech using the word "evil-doers" and mentioning bombing Non-Christians. Did I get you to cum yet, Al? It's always some "that's the way water flows" mother fucker, barking at me, ruining something he could never possibly understand the work it takes. Now, I don't want to get on a high horse about it but I'm proud of me and my buddies for trying to do something difficult like comedy. So if you are that riding-lawnmower-Git R' Done, White jesus believing (I know I didn't capitalize jesus- SQUIRM.) type -do shut your face at a comedy show. You have nothing to contribute that a million Aryan extremists couldn't do a million times better. Go see a prop comic. Better yet, A GUN- there's a prop. Put that in your mouth for a real showstopper. And if dearest Al, or any other overweight right-wing foreskin like him has daughters of age, I'd like to fuck them hard. Preferably to a point of discomfort so vaginally monumental, they run home crying to Alvin the know-it-all, so he has to hear about me one more time on standing on top of something he cares about. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. Gobble gobble, Al.

(Next week I promise to have some uplifting stories and home shopping tips. Your lucky numbers are: 7, 14, 23, and 3.14 (PI). Not you, Al. Get kicked by a horse onto a pitchfork, thereby causing you to lose control of your bowels, shitting yourself in violent but impressive manor, thus offending the horse so much where as to he kicks you again. Did I miss anything? Oh, your kids are watching this as it happens. At least I gto to work with Chappelle. I reall need to seek therapy. Ok, I'm done fuckers, Sweet Deams.

Clearchannel, why do you mock me!?

2005-11-22T10:24:00.000-08:00

Do you ever see a group of individuals so obnoxious, that you look forward to the point that all of them develop crack addictions, save one individual since they're the only one that deserves to live out of their toe-ring wearing infestation? That's how I feel about the Pussycat Dolls. Anyone else feel that way? Or am I the only fucking curmudgeon? (Curmudgeon: n. One who is without positive reinforcement and drinks to forget. Also see Eric Campbell.) Don't you with your girlfriend was hot like me? Not especially. Because then I have to put effort in. And what have we learned about effort, my lil' cherubs? Exactly. More news on hating the "P-Dolls" as it breaks.

I now pronounce you annoying...

2005-11-21T12:22:00.000-08:00

Ok. I've never "blogged" in my life. It just seemed like it was some sort of Norwegian bowl moveement when I first heard about it. "Gonna blog. Probably wouldn't go in there for about 15 minutes..." I'm not even sure exactly what my virgin "blog" should be. A list of dark secrets and people to hunt down like dogs? I dunno. But I will say what's on my mind in this first entry in my sadistic diary is the psychosis of marriage. Lately, I've been privy to (myself included) all kinds of people in the midwest crooning on and on about walking down the aisle. I just don't get it. Once a week I've been asked, "Why aren't you married yet?" as if it meant something more personal for them. Break out your "My friends hate their lives" decoder ring and the question actually means: "Don't you know your happiness is obnoxious to us?" We all think marriage is the penultimate statement for love, if not legally binding, but if this stupid ceremony signifies the pinnacle of passion, why bring the law into it? "I love you so much I want the government to know it..." HUH? To me, the ceremony is only as meaningful as some of those whack-a-mole games at state fairs. You spend alot of money, and you get something fluffy you'll probably forget about after the five dollar Miller Lites you overpaid for wash outta your system. Marriage really isn't that sacred, it just makes it harder to get away from someone. What's the rush? Why put yourself through a rat race of stress? Isn't that what this country is fighting for anyway- some DOWN time? I've got a better idea, if ya really need some routine to say "Fine. Fuck it. Forever.", just take turns tying a coarse rope around one another. Tug a little. When one of you belts out "Could you knock that SHIT OFF!?!" -then Congratulations. I now pronounce you man and wife.

Laters.

In The Wolf's Den

From Hot to Cold to Contemptible

Clearchannel, why do you mock me!?

I now pronounce you annoying...