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Another Dead Hero
When all you have are records of a guy’s finest [stand-up comedy] performances, it’s easy to idolize him. If you work with him and watch him drunkenly fart into the mike to recover a rough crowd? Not so much. [read more at link] Continue reading
Shame At The Scene of The Crime
And yet somehow I find myself compelled to return to a comedy club as a spectator around once a year. I usually don’t understand the impulse myself; it’s uncomfortably akin to going back to visit your old concentration camp: “C’mon, Honey! We can probably get in for free, what with my old work tattoo! And it’ll be more fun than when I actually worked there because we can pack a lunch, relax, and watch the current emaciated inmates pitchfork the babies for a change!” [read more at link] Continue reading
Statler and Waldorf Must Die
I did stand-up comedy as a second job for about nine or ten years, which means I’ve seen my share of hecklers. They’re an occupational hazard, the same way carpal tunnel syndrome is for computer programmers, or meth addiction and inflamed hemorrhoids are for evangelical preachers… [read more at link] Continue reading
The Day The Laughter Coughed
Ten minutes later, it looked like I had gotten rid of her just in time; I had to start writing some new jokes. Because the news said some drunken fuckwit had just plowed his Cessna into the World Trade Center… [read more at link] Continue reading