‘Redheads, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I know how you hunger for my regular McNuggets of mirth, wisdom, and complete egomaniacal delusion. Well, here you go… Eat, you jackals. In the spirit of Daylight Savings Time, let’s lose an hour of our lives, shall we?

Last night I had the honor and privilege of sharing the stage with three comedy dynamos, Mike Storck, Jim Meyer, and Justin Schlegel, at the Mobtown Theater in Baltimore. It was a cool little black box theater with a cool little black box theater crowd. Here’s how cool the crowd was last night… I grumbled “Mahna-mahna” into the mic, and they were hip enough to come back with “Doo-doo de doo-doo”. That’s a rare find. There were traces of drunk Baltimoron, but they were overpowered by the cackles of card-carrying members of the Knights Who Say Ni. Dork love. Here are some pix from the evening:

That’s me backstage…with my patented scruffy Cabbage Patch Kid smile.

That’s Justin…on the phone with Satan…powering up before his set.

That’s how really drunk people saw me on stage…

It was a fun show, and it all benefited Autism research. Nothing like the satisfaction of helping a good cause to offset the twenty minute set of soul blackening rhetoric.

Now, I’d like to extend big kudos to some of my comedy brethren, who lived the dream of every comic in the industry. They beat the snot out of a group of ignorant hecklers after a show. I’ve only heard this story second hand, and I’ll keep names out of it pending legal action, but apparently it was a rumble worthy of a title being on the line. These guys were yelling out “When’s the funny part?” and “I haven’t heard a joke yet!” during the ENTIRE SHOW. Then, afterwards, when one of the comics called them out on it, said “Oh, it looked like you guys needed help up there.”
Here’s a tip to John Q. Drunk Frat McMeathead Who’s Only Seen A Dane Cook Special And Forwards Emails As A Substitute For Original Thought: Unless you’re laughing, YOU’RE NEVER HELPING.
It’s generally not a good idea to piss of comics. We’re lovers, not fighters, but our humor is a mask for deep-seeded pent up rage and bitterness. A defense mechanism honed to weapons-grade by dealing with prickish clods. And a lot of us aren’t terribly stable. We may seem like harmless jesters, but if you call down the thunder by being an impenetrably boorish asshat, we’ll be happy to do 5 minutes at your funeral.
To those who traded punches for punchlines that night, this Bud’s for you…

On Friday, as a means of promoting the show at the Mobtown, I was a guest on the 98Rock morning show, with Kirk, Mark, & Spiegel. I used to work on a morning radio show, before I embarked on standup. I was reminded Friday why I don’t miss it. Don’t misunderstand me, I had a great time on the 98Rock airwaves, but getting up just past the ass-crack of dawn (the taint of dawn) was brutal. I’ve never been a morning person. Waking up that early kept me in an overtired, adrenaline head-rushed funk for the rest of the day.
The guys up at 98Rock are fans of the local comedy scene and it’s always fun shootin’ the shite with ’em. Their show is pretty rigidly scheduled, so I needed to pick my spots to surgically strike with quips, one-liners, and retorts. I thought I could’ve been more vocal, but all the feedback I’ve gotten has been positive. So, I done did good.

Ok, before I sign off this installment, I wanted to share a dream I had with you. Over the past week, I’ve had a string of cold-pizza fueled vivid dreams. I was able to remember most of this one, and I made sure to scribble down the major plot points. If any of you know anything about dream interpretation, or maybe remember the lyrics of Queensryche’s Silent Lucidity, feel free to let me know what the hell is going on in my head…

I start off riding a red dirt bike down a wooded trail. It’s a bike with pedals, but this one is moving more like a motorcycle. As I get further down the trail, I meet up with a pretty blonde girl, named Elfpig. I remember this, because in the dream it struck me as a weird name, so I asked her again. She said it was a British name. I escorted her down the trail to what appeared to be a school campus. We went into a large white building that she had a class in…I’m still riding the bike. We start up a flight of stairs. As we’re walking and talking, we stop paying attention to where we’re going. The stairs end. At a wall. She turns around to find her class and I realize that my bike is gone.
I start back down the stairs in search of it. I find a classroom where Larry the Cable Guy is giving a lecture to a group of students all sitting on leather couches. I never heard him say “git ‘r done” (thank you subconscious), but the kids were hanging on every word of that redneck drawl he affects. I sit in on the lecture because I see my bike in the room. At this point, his lecture turns to the subject of pro wrestling and the upcoming WrestleMania. He’s speaking as if he’s part of the WWE company and he’s selling the line-up to the students. He mentions that they’re set to have one of the most intense United States Championship matches in the company’s history and that I will be participating. I raise my hand like I know this… In the dream, I guess I do. I tell Larry, if I win, he can get a title shot, but it’ll have to be a joke-off.
The lecture ends and I grab my bike and head back downstairs. As I get ready to exit the building, I spot Elfpig in her class. She looks up from her notes and our eyes meet for a moment.
It then occurs to me that I have to cancel my plans to watch WrestleMania, because I’m IN WrestleMania.

Then I wake up.

No more cold pizza before bed.

To be continued…

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