Monday, June 29, 2009

No, really. I'm funny!

Those of you that know me -which are the only people that read my blog -know that I've done stand-up. I've always had the support of my friends, both near and far (side bar to do my Grover impression: Neeeaaaaaaar! *run* *run* *pant* *pant* *pant* Faaaaaar! Damn, I sounded just like him). They've showed up to my shows, most of which have sucked. Eons of trying, and having far more shitty shows than side splitters. I can say I've "killed" an audience before, but the ratio is crap. Ca-ca. Shit.
I've never thought that my haunting desire to be successful at stand-up was anything special. Doesn't everybody wish they were an awesome comic? I never felt apart from the crowd, just because I desired to be a stand-up comic. One thing that DID make me feel special was my friends telling me how I should do it: "You're funny, you should do stand-up".

Getting laid might not sound like it relates to stand-up (except that famous stand-ups get truckloads of ass), but for me it does. Female friends have told me that I should be getting more than I am right now, and before I divorced, they couldn't believe my wife wasn't putting out daily. It made me wonder if I was an asshole to live with, but my mind is filled with too many memories of kissing my wife’s ass, so I can’t be sure. But I’ve definitely learned that humor is a potent aphrodisiac. We all know that Chris Farley, John Belushi, and John Candy got plenty of hot women to touch them in their bathing suit area.

Being told that I could pull off a successful stand-up career, and possibly being knee deep in the swamp lands of poontang have more than one connection. One, they both feel fricken great! It’s tough to rank making a huge audience laugh against busting a nut. They also both leave you feeling euphoric for awhile afterwards. Two, they both consume a large part of my thoughts, daily (although the stand-up dream has evolved to comedian, or humorist. I wouldn’t mind being a comedy writer; skits, plays, columns, or all of the above). Thirdly, I’m told by close friends that I should pursue both. That should account for something, no?

I’ve now realized though, why I’m not hugely successful. Okay, maybe it’s just a valid theory, but it’s a reason to blog at the very least. I can’t force myself to “be me”. I can only truly be me around close friends. When I go up on stage, or around a single girl with a monster rack, I can’t be funny. My mind is racing, trying to find something,anything to crack a joke about. I either come up empty, or go waaaaay too far (“I want to be a tattoo artist, specializing just in titty tats).

I’m funniest, when I don’t care, and when I’m comfortable. That explains why I have close friends from the internet. When it’s text based, there’s an anonymity to it all. If I offend, they or I can click the red “x” in the upper right hand corner, and I’m hidden from any retribution. My friends in “real life” know me, know my humor, and if I go too far they blow it off as “that’s just how fatguy is”. I can only be comfortably funny around these kinds of people. My mind even works better, and faster, for spontaneous, and “play off each other” jokes. It also works best from the gutter –YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO JUDGE ME okay I’m back.

My close friends will be my close friends no matter what, they’re safe. Even if they hate something I say, I apologize, and we move on, still friends. The internet, for reasons I’ve already explained, is safe. Comedy clubs, and potential booty … not safe. It’s stupid, I know. If girl doesn’t like me, she moves on. If an audience doesn’t like me, they move on. I’m just one of the many “not so funny” comics they saw that night.

So why can’t I? Any Freud wannabes want to come up with something? Let me know, I’m getting carpal-tunnel.