It’s a really sweet club. And the tickets are shockingly cheap. It’s me and my friend Tom Segura performing and he’s hilarious so it’s a good show to catch.

Tickets just 5 dollars.

Steve Agee
Dylan Brody
Joey Diaz
Dan Madonia
Marc Maron

host, Ari Shaffir

I can do this.  Not this Sunday and Monday because I have to shoot a web series about a porno college with Mo Mandel on Sunday.  Maybe next week.  I’ll try to update things as I go through them.  If you have any tips, please feel free to Twitter me or figure out a way to comment on this blog.  The latter would be cooler.

Peter Jackson’s 8th film is by far his grandest vision of the future. (I also am not going to do any research on anything, so I’m probably wrong about all the stats I include, too. For instance, I doubt very much that this is Peter Jackson’s 8th film. I know about the 3 Lord of the Rings, and King Kong (which su-u-ucked) but that’s all of what I’m aware. I get the sense that he’s done other stuff, though, right? I mean they’re not going to let him direct The Lord of the Rings if he hadn’t done some other stuff first.) It’s quite easy to see why the haute of our society have given him the mantle of “The next Gene Roddenberry.” Jackson amazes us with an ephemeral glimpse at a world most noticeably driven by the production of goods. Though the aliens are the tool by which he builds his vehicle, it is the predictions of a globalized economy that has Mr. Jackson so noticeably worried about the coming decades.

As the film opens, we see little or no conflict between the intelligent species on Earth. For their parts, the aliens seem little more than metaphors for Asians of pre-American involvement in World War II. And though everything seemed fine and dandy for a few years, like they were finally being accepted as equals, we all know what’s about to happen. Distrust, greed, and fear drive a wedge in between the alien leadership and the Earth government. The Earth President, as played wonderfully by Phillip Seymour Hoffman (Not only do I not know if he’s in the movie, I don’t even know if that’s how you spell his name.) decieves the aliens, also colorfully referred to as “Bindles,” into gathering together under the guise of an Earth parade. Little do they know, they’re actually being brought together so they can be rounded up and placed into a high tech internment camp known as “District 9.” To this point, the acting was wonderful with the only weak spot being Peter Jackson’s incessant need to cast his wife in every film he touches. I’m sorry if this sounds harsh, but she can’t act, and physically, she’s no longer believable as a high school cheerleader/debate team chairperson. In everyone else, however, Jackson has instilled a sense of awe mixed with a casual complacence that I haven’t seen in a film since Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece, “2001, or 2010 or whatever.”

The only problem with District 9 is that the Earth government didn’t round up all the Bindles. There were pockets of people who were either too sick or too cool to go to the Earth parade. The too sick were quickly rounded up and slaughtered so they can be turned into food. This food will be fed to the prisoners of District 9 in order to demoralize them with the news that they cannibalized the infirmed of their people. The too cool were, however, were too cool to be captured by Earth police (that’s what they call police when there’s just one country of Earth even though we don’t call them American police now) so they go into hiding in the only place the Earth police can’t find them: Broad daylight!

Fuck yeah! The plot thickens and shit. Here’s what had happened. The cooler Bindles have been trying to score sweet hot Earth sluts for years now, and a few have recently developed a technology which covers their Bindle looks and allows them to blend in with native earthlings at clubs and discotheques across the globe. The cool Bindles form a resistance movement led by the coolest of the cool aliens, Faheem (played by gorgeous young newcomer Antonio Acevedes). Faheem blends in perfectly with the Earthlings. He wears black pants and a black shirt with the first 3 buttons undone to display his chest hair and a gold necklace. He drives around in a Silver Mercedes convertible that his father bought for him through his hard work. The older generation of Bindles actually had a great work ethic and strong family values. But they’ve spoiled the children and now the younger generation acts horribly, going to clubs every night, wearing Drakkar-Noir to excess, keeping Ed Hardy in business walking around with a sense of entitlement, and just generally acting like fucking Persians.

Faheem hatches a plan to turn District 9 into an actual working space station, fully equipped with proton torpedoes. That was the one weakness that the floating internment camp had, that it could too easily be turned into a battleship. But in his hubris and haste the Earth president overlooked that risk and rushed into this plan. The movie moves on, with some very interesting shots that have become staples of a Peter Jackson project. He enjoys shooting large landscapes and continues to show a fascination with the environment around us. I wish more directors would take time to smell the roses, as it were. (No idea what that meant)

I don’t want to spoil anything for the readers, but I will say that there is one amazingly shot sequence in which Faheem, now completely in charge of a working space battle station, is firing proton torpedoes at every major city on the planet, forcing the Earth people to go into slavery for their bindle masters. And from that point, until 10 minutes later as Phillip Seymour Hoffman is trying to still maintain his composure as he signs his people’s freedom away in a peace treaty, we can see the brilliance of Peter Jackson as he directs Faheem to reveal a slight smile right before he stabs the Earth President and announces to the world that the treaty is denied, but they will live in peace as brothers.

Overall, I’d give this movie 4 out of 5 stars. The story is good, but the special effects were riveting. If you don’t like SFX because you’re a mindless hipster or a stupid fucking bitch, I’d suggest checking out Julia and Julia this weekend. It’s got wonderful pacing and an understated charm. If that last sentence sickened you, then you’re a normal person who isn’t too douchey to appreciate flashing lights and sweet God damn explosions. If so, I would definitely give District 9 a chance. And make sure to stay to the end of the credits. They play the new Ace of Base music video. The video sets up the sequel, letting you know that the Earth President survived the knife attack and goes underground on a Rambo style killing spree that’s the bloodiest sequence I’ve ever seen in cinema and quite frankly made me question my ability to feel love. Also, they have bloopers.

I took this dump in a hotel room in Philadelphia, where I was in between doing stand up comedy for two sold out shows at Helium Comedy Club with Joe Rogan and watching the UFC live at the Wachovia Center the following evening. I had just smoked some of the Banini joint that I smuggled across the country. I think it’s a cross between Banana Kush and something else that ends in “ini” like Martini OG or some crazy shit like that. I don’t know why they don’t just give each weed a numerical assignation. That would be easier to remember. “I like pot flavors 3, 217, 136, and 44. Actually, that would be significantly more difficult to remember. Let’s stick with the name system we’ve already got.

Anyway, this joint and one just like him were given to me at a marijuana dispensary in Studio City, California. It’s right over the hill on Laurel Canyon just before you get to Moorpark on the right side of the street. I just did some research. It’s called Secret Garden Cannameds. And what they did for me (because it was my first time there) was they offered me for free one free small pipe of my choice (valued (by me guessing) at 10 dollars), 10 screens to fit in that pipe (valued at 1 dollar), a lighter (valued at 50 cents), and 2 joints of a hybrid marijuana that they’ve renamed “Banini” (valued at 15 dollars). That’s a total prize package worth over 26 dollars. And all because I bought a Reefers Peanut Butter Cup, and a Tokreo Cookie for 10 each and two lollipops for 7 each or two for 10. I can’t vouch for the edibles because I gave them all away. The first two to my friend Pete who was having an emotional mushroom induced life crisis and the two lollipops to my friend Steve who has a kid. Pete said they were wonderful, Steve never said anything, and I can vouch for the Banini myself. I think it’s an indica, or a hybrid but that’s just a guess. What’s not a guess is that it’s A to the Wesome.

On Thursday I woke up in Los Angeles, California in an apartment on the Sunset Strip. I live in a nice builiding in an awesome location in a pigsty of an apartment. Since the girl moved out, I’ve cleaned exactly zero times. I’ve been relatively careful not to leave foodstuffs around so as not to attract bugs, rodents, and (later) taloned birds. The mess is just a clutter but its a horrible clutter. I sleep on approximately 1/3 of my bed because the other 2/3 are covered in clean laundry that I haven’t folded in maybe 3 months. If you’re doing the math, that means you think I haven’t washed my sheets and blanket in 3 months. Wrong. It’s probably been closer to a year. My couch is full of clean laundry. There’s a blanket on the floor that is also full of clean laundry. One area not full of clean laundry: My closets. There is an area where the kitchen table would go if I had one that is filled with plastic grocery bags. It looks like that giant garbage barge the size of Texas that’s off the western coast of the United States. Attached to the barge is the yard sale area. That’s where I keep a selection of toolless power cords and out of date connectors, worn out golf bag with no clubs, printers, and books. All of which I would sell at a yard sale for 50 cents each or less. That region borders Box Town, where I keep my cardboard boxes open that I may fill with pieces of balled up paper, empty Jujyfruit containers, self loathing, unemployment check pay stubs, empty ibuprofen containers, and smaller, less adaptable boxes. That area butts right up against the La-Z-Boy recliner that my brother in law gave me if I was willing to pick it up from The Price is Right stuido warehouse. It’s a wonderfully plush maroon recliner from Living In Comfort (pictured here and valued at 549 dollars).

Features include massage and built in refrigerator. And it’s sitting, unplugged, in the very spot 36 inches inside the door my friend Shawn and I set it down when he helped me move it in. There’s an area outside the clean laundry on the blanket on the floor area path (I have paths set up so I can get around) where I just have empty and half empty suitcases piled up. My kitchen is disgusting. And my bathroom is beginning to smell like a gas station restroom. Plus the fridge is making a strange noise like the motor is about to fail and the shower drain has been stopped up for 5 months so I have to wade in an ankle deep bath 3 minutes into any shower I take. And I can’t call the maintenance guy to come fix those things because I’m too embarrassed for anyone to see how I live including the Mexican fix it guy who sometimes sleeps drunk in the bed of his pickup truck outside our building as he sings himself to sleep.

On Friday I woke up across the country in a hotel room in Manhattan. At 7 am I walked from there to the Sirius XM studios to be a guest on the Opie and Anthony show. It’s my favorite radio to do and it’s my favorite program to listen to. I’ve had some of the best, most memorable times of my life on that show. Do a google search on “The Baby Bird on O&A” and you’ll see my favorite. Hopefully you can find the video. It involves an eggnog drinking contest and a lot of radness. On Friday we all sniffed the dried up and fermented spooge puddle that Jim Norton found in his belly button. It made Jim Jefferies barf. I uploaded a video of it here:

Later on Marion Barry, the former two separate time mayor of Washington D.C. came in to talk. Well, he didn’t actually come in for that reason. He was there to do an interview for the black station, but Norton asked him if he’d like to come in there and the former mayor/crackhead accepted the offer. He did a 2 minute interview about his new HBO documentary and about overcoming adversity and about how he didn’t really smoke crack because the cops were setting him up so it wasn’t crack in that pipe. When asked by Rogan what he thought he was smoking, the man cooly replied, “I never smoked it. I just took a drag.” Then he realized that he was standing next to a trashcan full of vomit and he left the room shortly thereafter.

We drove from there to Philadelphia where we went straight backstage to the weigh-ins for UFC 101. I like being backstage for those things because it’s my only real chance to say hi to all the fighters and trainers that I’ve become friends with. Most of them sit in super VIP areas during the fights and unless I run into them in the morning in the hotel lobby, there’s never any time to catch up. You can’t do it at one of the retarded after parties because I can’t talk over the Pussycat Dolls on full blast. It’s demeaning to me that professional sluts are turned up so we can hear what they’re saying. Plus, my ears mumble as bad as my mouth, so communicating at clubs is an impossibility for me. So at the weigh-ins I got to talk to Greg Jackson for a while and he introduced me to Renzo Gracie. I also got into a nice theoretical discussion about breakups with one of the behind the scenes guys whose name I won’t mention until he’s no longer hurting. Kendall Grove came over and said hi. He and BJ Penn saw me in Columbus and they’ve both been cool ever since. The weigh-ins themselves were uneventful. Ed Sinister was talking about Anderson Silva’s stare down, but I didn’t know there was any real beef between he and Forrest Griffin, so I don’t think I noticed that it was too harsh. Then I said hi to Dana White and we we went back to our hotel to get ready for the Helium shows.

The crowds in Philadelphia have always been great. They’re a bunch of rowdy filthpigs who like their beer. You definitely get a higher percentage of add douchetards who enjoy yelling out tag lines to every single one of your jokes and set ups. Every time I’ve been to Helium it’s always been just one or two people, which you can deal with. When 5 different people or more across different parts of the room start yelling shit out, that gets a little crazy and it’s hard to deal with. But these shows had nobody bad in the first show and just one idiot in the second, and he wasn’t even that bad. Plus there were two fun black people sitting next to him, so I could play around with them and not worry about seeming too racist. It’s amazing to me that sometimes I’ll make a racist joke and if the 3 black people in the room get upset, the whole room gets weirded out. But if the same 3 black people laugh at the same racist joke (because it’s just a fucking joke and that’s what non-retarded humans are supposed to do), the whole room relaxes and gets into it. It’s almost like everybody looks at those 3 as representatives of the black race and they let them decide what is or is not the racial line in the sand. These black guys were cool, so that transferred to everyone else. Joe Lauzon and Chris Palmquist came to the first show. Our friend/gorilla, Mr. John Rallo, came out to the 2nd show. Rallo is a white, so please don’t think that was a racist joke. Matt Serra, Opie, Cole Miller and his father were also at the 2nd show. It’s strange that there could be a room of 260 people who have never heard any of my bits before, but I can’t stop thinking about the 6 people who might’ve already heard what I’ve said. I was talking to Greg Jackson and Joe Lauzon about it. Joe is a comedy fan, so he understands and appreciates the different subtleties in seeing a joke done two separate times. Greg agreed with me. That still bothers the shit out of me for some reason. So I end up having to try to think when the last time these people saw me was, and then try to figure out all the new material that I started doing after that show. Matt Serra hadn’t seen me for 8 months, so that wasn’t a problem, but Lauzon saw me 4 months ago in Montreal, so I had to scramble a little. I ran out of new material at 22 minutes and had to repeat a jiu-jitsu joke to close it out.

On Saturday I woke up in a hotel room in Philadelphia. I slept nearly a full 8 hours and I probably would have slept longer if not for nearly pissing the bed at noon. I was having one of those dreams about wading through a river and I was too tired to realize the difference between peeing in my dream and peeing in my underwear. I think I probably let 20 or 30 drops worth out before I woke up and pinched it. By then I was up, so I got high and started writing this blog until Eddie Bravo called me to go with him to Modell’s to get a knee sleeve for his student, George Sotiropoulos. We took a cab out to the boonies. I couldn’t tell the difference between the regular people and the hookers. Actually, I think they were all regular people, but I’m still shell shocked from that back alley to Club Soda in Montreal and these people were pretty worn down. The best part of this little adventure is that we told the Muslim cab driver to wait for us for 5 minutes and we’d be right back out. He said he’d wait. Then Eddie gave him a 20 dollar deposit to make sure he’d stay. Of course he wasn’t there when we came back out 2 and a half minutes later. I was just about the forgive Muslims for 9/11 because of how cool this guy was being. Now I have to hate them more than ever. Way to ruin it for everyone, dickwad.

The fights were kind of shitty. There was a lot of hugging and holding and not too much action. At one point during the Aaron Riley/Shane Nelson fight there was a fight in the stands and everybody in attendance was more interested in that than what was going on inside the octagon. I was, too. This dude in the stands connected on a straight right that came from one row up and just leveled this other dude. He had gravity on his side and the shot was brutal. That or the Anderson Silva knockout was probably punch of the night.

On Sunday I went back to the chaos of my apartment. The plan is for me to move my bed into the living room and turn my bedroom into a studio for writing and editing. It will require A LOT of cleaning up and rearranging that I’ll probably never get to but that’s the plan anyway.

So in three days, I got to do a bunch of stuff that I normally would take for granted. I got to wake up on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood, California. I got to be a guest on my favorite radio show ever in New York City. I got to hang out backstage at the UFC weigh-ins. I got to perform for two awesome sold out crowds in Philadelphia. I got to watch perhaps the greatest MMA fighter of all time defend his reputation against a marquee name in a higher weight class. And I got to go back to LA to perform at a club that was once home to almost every legendary standup comedian in history, the Comedy Store. That’s kind of a cool three days. I think it’s not a bad idea to take stock every once in a while to get yourself feeling happy about yourself. 10 years ago, I wouldn’t have thought any of those things were possible for me. Now, it’s almost a typical weekend. Even if I fail as a standup, I’ve still gotten to live a pretty fun life for a decent percentage of my life. When I’m putting the gun in my mouth because I can’t take one more day as a mattress salesman in Maryland, I’ll hopefully look back on a weekend like this and smile a little before I blow my brains out.

So two of the things to which I was looking forward, happened. Andy Kindler’s “State of the Industry” address and Louis CK was doing a full concert at one of the theaters. Kindler’s speech was awesome. I sat between Rich Vos and the owner of Philadelphia’s, Helium Comedy Club. I’ve always had a great time there and I’ll be back with Rogan for two shows in August before the UFC. Anyway, Kindler’s speech was awesome. He writes a new hour of comedy about only the industry every year. And every year it’s different. That’s really amazing. Plus, it’s not like he can even work out that material on the road. Half the jokes are only understood by the people in that room. It’s amazing that he can get that done. It’s even more amazing that the speech is funny. I loved it. One thing I noticed is that way more producer type people were there than I had previously been around. By producer types, I mean non-creative types. And there were a lot of networking douchebags who kept needing to look around to see who else “big” was in the audience with them. It was distracting to see people’s necks turn nearly 180 degrees away from the performer on stage. A true artist was performing very unique material to an extremely specific audience and these uninteresting mosquitos were turning away and tuning out in order to pre-network. I get nauseous at shit like that. The large majority of them sat in rapt attention. But the scene between me and Andy looked like a sky full of fireflies, only instead of lights I saw Hollywood cliches straining their gullets.

Louis CK performed at midnight at this beautiful theater across the street from Club Soda. It was the same place Broken Lizard performed, but this time was even more packed. The only real non-standup draw this man has is a failed sitcom on HBO 2 years ago. Since then, he’s built his draw by recording two hour long specials. He absolutely destroyed to a crowd full of people who were excited to see him. I bet there were around 2000 people there, And he was killing. Later he told me that of the first hour he did, there wasn’t one joke that was ready for filming yet. He was doing that well with material that wasn’t ready. The new special he’s doing this for is going to be just sick. He was really excited that it went so well, too. I really like that. That he seemed truly happy that he performed well and that so many people showed made me feel happier for him and happier to have gotten to see it.

And then I went to one last show and saw something which made me laugh harder than anything else at the festival had in 12 days. Reggie Watts was hosting this 1 am show that I was on. First of all, I had never seen Reggie Watts live before. It’s actually an amazing thing to watch. The man makes beautiful, interesting music while he weaves in intermittent laughs and wild performance. And he hosted the show like how I feel a real host should. He did time before and after every single act. If you’re hosting a show with 7 or 8 acts like that or more, you’re not just warming up the crowd and bringing people on. It’s your show, and to a degree you’re allowing the other performers to be a part of it. I feel like not enough comics understand that. Anyway, it was a late, light crowd and a lot of the comics were just telling stories, trying to connect with the audience on what seemed like their energy level. And then Reggie Watts explained that since the show was running behind, there wasn’t enough time for all the performers, so two of the comics decided to do standup together. So Rory Scoville and Jon Dore came out together. These are usually interesting things, when comics that don’t perform together decide to be a duo. When I do things like that, it’s usually a sketch where I get into a staged argument with my new parther. Something weird like that. So that’s what I figured these guys were going to do. But they didn’t. They took the stage and made their way to their mics. Then they paused for a moment and each of them started doing their own acts at the same time. It was a really funny concept that they kept going for, like, 30 seconds before I started wondering how long they could sustain that joke. 10 minutes. 10 God damn minutes this went on for and it never stopped being hilarious. One of them would pause for where there would normally be laughter and then you could make out just a few random words by the other guy. Things like, “Not on my watch, buddy.” and “So that’s how you dispose of a body in Tucson.” Those weren’t what they said, but they were things like that. So that was funny for a few solid minutes and then it went into this other stage where you could sort of concentrate on what one was saying over the other if you only looked at one guy. So then you’d actually here their really funny material for a while and you’d laugh at that. And then after you laughed, the comic would pause and you’d hear the other guy say something like, “Three faggots don’t make an army,” and you’d shift your attention to the other. They used impressions and at one point Jon Dore started getting real preachery on stage like a late Bill Hicks. The whole thing was absolutely amazing and I was so glad that I had stayed for that rather than go to the JFL wrap up party a little earlier. Granted, I had gotten high before the show with Reggie and Rory, but I stand behind my statement that it was the most awesome thing I had seen.

Then we all headed over to that party. We got in right as it was ending. I saw this girl that I was super into who reminded me of Allison Dynamite. God, this girl intrigued me sexually. But she does this thing where she spreads her attention around to all the guys in a bar and I’m just so against playing any sort of cockfighting game, that I just stop working to try and make out with a hot girl that was seemingly into the idea. I just didn’t want to bother. There was some after party that everyone was going to, but it was 3:30 and though I wasn’t tired, I just didn’t know if I wanted to commit to another scene and kind of ruin the good taste of my trip by trying in vain to catch the eye of a girl I want to fuck only to have her ignore me while she makes her rounds. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s perfectly justifiable for her to want attention from a bunch of guys, I just don’t feel like getting involved with it. Also, it helps that I had already cum that day. It’s amazing how much less I’m willing to put up with after a good nut. It’s like my friend Joe Rogan says on stage, “Jerk off first, then think about it.” And I’m always amazed at how much a decent blast can clear your head and allow you to think straight.

So I’ll skip a bunch of story and just say that I woke up somewhere in the city far from my hotel. Apparently, I was not going to receive a ride back. It was a 40 minute walk back. I probably should’ve cabbed it, but I didn’t have enough Canadian money left to pay for the ride and I’m to Jewey to break an American hundred dollar bill. So I walked. I decided to take a detour and take the hike to the top of Mount Royal. There’s this trail, guess, that’s supposed to go up to the top of the mountain at the edge of Montreal. I heard it was 40 minutes to the top, but I kept thinking of quitting for the last 15 minutes. It probably took me an hour. It was so worth it, though. At the top of this place there’s a ledge where you can see the entire city of Montreal with the water separating it from the mainland. It’s such an awesome view and it’s so rewarding after you made that long hike. I totally recommend anybody doing that if you’re there on a nice morning. The hike wasn’t even that difficult. It was just long. Plus, I didn’t ever know how much longer it was going to be because you could never see the summit until you were 10 yards away and all the signs going up there were in French only and I’m too scared of French speakers to initiate conversation in English unless it’s absolutely necessary. Then I walked down the short way (there’s a short way I didn’t know about) and then through the city.

I bought a Cuban cigar right after I got off the mountain and smoked that as I walked through one of the most beautiful cities I’ve been to on a beautiful 78 degree day. I probably walked for about an hour, found myself getting a silk screened poutine shirt made and running over to Schwartz’s for a smoked meat sandwich to go while the t-shirt was being printed. I packed my shit, took a shower, handed out all my left over weed to locals, ate my sandwich, said goodbye to as much of the JFL staff as I could, split 1 and a half breath strips with Nick Thune, and made my way to the airport.

It was a really fun trip. It made it way more fun that I was having really great sets for 12 days. The Cuban told me not to try anything that only sort of works. Just throw them all closers from the moment you get up there, till the day you leave. And that’s what I tried to do. No fucking around. Just showcasing what I can do at a festival dedicated to comedy. I held my own with everybody there and people who had never heard of me took at least a modicum of notice. I saw a lot of great comedians that I look up to, and for about a week and a half, I didn’t feel out or my element talking to them, drinking with them or performing on shows with them. And I performed for probably near 10,000 people in that time. The whole experience was great. Now back to getting bumped to the end of lineups because I don’t have enough credits.

It was a crowd that was ready to explode. I’ve done a lot of rooms like this when I open for Joe Rogan. They’re kind of drunk when the show starts, and then they get way too drunk at some point in the middle of the show. I remember noticing it for the first time when we played a 1:00 am show at Caroline’s in New York the night of the weigh ins before the UFC event in New Jersey the next day. New Yorkers and booze go together like prisons and rape. It’s not cool, but it’s sort of expected. When I got on that night they were amped up way too much. I believe Dana White was there. And so were the TapouT guys and Dan Henderson. There were a lot of people in the audience who were super stoked to be there and it showed. But right at about 20 minutes after I got off, the booze hit too strong and the crowd started getting way to rowdy. Drunks were just yelling shit out. Somebody barfed in the room. Somebody else barfed when he smelled the first guy’s barf. It was kind of like the pie eating contest in Stand By Me only with TapouT shirts on.

(as an aside here, I think my housekeeper is just folding the end of my toilet paper roll into a point instead of changing the roll. I thought that double fold, paper airplane like origami thing was just to show that it was a new roll. What’s the point of doing it when I have 37 squares left?)

Back to the story. This crowd at the Nasty Show was like that. Thankfully, I went on right after Bobby Slayton. I could feel this huge energy in the room. Not some new agey hippie energy. Just this drunk, excited, still ok energy. They were great. But I could tell they weren’t going to last too long before they went over the cliff. And go over the cliff they did. It got too heckly. Louis CK, perhaps the best, most prolific comedian working today got added to the end of the show. It was such a treat for this crowd to get a guy like that be honest about his life after listening to me break down all the aspects of semen for 12 minutes but not all of them realized what a treat it was. At some point it got unbearable and some people had to be kicked out. But then Louis went on for another 15 minutes and really gave the crowd and myself some huge laughs. I really liked that at one point when CK was pleading with some Dbags up front to just be quiet, Bobby Slayton came running out on stage and got in their faces. It was a fun moment.

What was really interesting was that Louis and I walked back from Broken Lizard Live together and we talked for a while about his theories on comedy and writing and being prolific. He’s first and foremost a really nice, genuine human. But he’s also got a shit ton to teach anyone who wants to listen. It was a very interesting conversation and I’ll save it until I’ve processed all of it for another blog. I will tell you that he complimented me on my closer, which, even though I’m supposed to take stuff like that lightly, I didn’t. Dave Attell told me I was a good writer once, and I’ve been trying in vain to actually earn that compliment for over a year now.

The show I was most excited to see this weekend was Broken Lizard Live. I saw the opening number (and I call it a number because it was choreographed by the choreographer of the new Cirque Du Soleil) and then I had to run back to perform across the street. As SOON as I got off, I ran back over to watch the last hour of the Broken Lizard show. The did a mixture of sketch and standup. Steve had a great story about jerking it that obviously appeals to me since I love jerking it. And Kevin had a fun story about shooting his nude scene for Super Troopers. I think stories are the best way to go for people trying standup comedy. It grounds you in a real place and then lets you add details and taglines to make the story funnier. At least that’s why I love telling stories so much. I think that’s what I’ve become over the last year or two. A filthy story teller. They also showed a clip from Slammin Salmon, their new movie. It got a huge response from everybody. I think Michael Clark Duncan is going to steal that movie.

So after Broken Lizard I went back to Club Soda to say goodbye to everyone and try to schmooze Hollywood types on their way out. The one dude I’ve been trying to get to come see me for a year or more finally came and he was super nice, so I think I might have something there. And then I went and said goodbye to all the bouncers and sound people and waitresses that I’ve been working with for the last 10 days. The bouncer out front started telling me to enjoy Montreal for that last 2 days that I was here. He said, “There are tons of different neighborhoods and bars. Right here is on. And then if you go down St. Catherine, that’s the gay neighborhood. There are a bunch of gay bars there. One is called something (I don’t remember the names) and another a few blocks further is called whatever and they have newer music. And then there’s another gay bar that specializes…”
That’s when I interrupted. “Wait. Um. I’m not gay.”
The guy was shocked. “REALLY? But I thought in your act you keep talking about being gay.”
“Which part? The part where I talk about only fucking non-Jewish girls, or the part where I talk about learning about girls on the pill while I’m fucking them, or the part about watching a shit ton of straight porn, or the part about hand jobs at strip clubs, or the part about fucking a woman in Dallas? Or was it THAT I WAS WEARING A GOD DAMN CARDIGAN EVERY NIGHT AND THAT JUST HAS TO BE GAY?”
He thought about it for a moment and said, “No, I thought it was something from your act.”

Fabulous. I don’t care. I’m sticking with the cardigans.

I sat downstairs during the day and talked to a bunch of comics as I waited in vain for some manager to come introduce himself. I felt like a fat chick at a school dance.

I did my Bubbling with Laughter show at 7 and it was a ton of fun. They gave me seven minutes and told me the crowd didn’t like dirty jokes. There were a bunch of old comics going up and I felt out of place. Marc Maron was the closest friend I could find on the show to talk to. I waited maybe 90 seconds before telling some story about a strip club. It went great.

Quit telling me crowds don’t like dirty material. I’m a professional comic. If you’re reading this you probably think I’m a good comic. And one thing I know how to do is make dirty material digestable to old and uptight people. It’s kind of what I do. My jokes suck, I mumble, I’m not nice to look at, and I’ve got no great story, but I’ve got stage presence.

The 2nd coolest thing that happened to me is that Rich Miller and Colleen told me that they’d finally let me headline Cap City Comedy Club in Austin, Texas. That’s one of my five favorite clubs in the country. Comedy Works in Denver, Cap City, DC Improv, Comedy Store Original Room, and I think I’m still looking for a fifth.

The coolest thing to happen to me is Paul and Steve from Broken Lizard introduced themselves to me. I’m a huge fan of their movies so for two days I kept staring at them from across the room like a fat chick at a school dance. Yeah. Uncomfortable fat chicks are funny to me. Anyway, when they said hi and already knew my name, I thought that was pretty fucking rad.

I’m having a good time here.

I loved those old days right when WTEM started. It was 570 on the am dial and not that many people knew about it. So my friends and I could always call in and speak to the guy on air pretty much whenever we wanted to. Those were the days that Tony Kornheiser had his own morning radio show. He had one rule, which I still remember today and like. If you call in, just get straight to the question. Don’t say hi or how are you or good morning or I love the show. When unaware people did that, Tony would just hang up on them. I liked it because that stuff always slows down whatever flow you were having. It’s pretty much just dead brain time for the DJ until the guy gets to his damn question or comment. Some caller did that while I was on Team 990 in Montreal and it made me think of Kornheiser and smile.

So I got back to the hotel and went to fuck around a little with the Just For Laughs staff. They have an unwritten rule that the staff is not allowed to sleep with the comics. And I understand the reasoning for that. The staff is totally fun to hang out with. I’d probably sleep with any of 15 of them. Even the dudes are cool. But I just don’t see it getting to a physical level with dudes. I think it would take someone REALLY charismatic and intimidating to get me to experiment with homosexuality while I’m busy in a new country trying to find representation. While the dudes who work at JFL are cool, I don’t think they have what it takes to steal my buttginity.

So I thought I was supposed to do a Bubbling with Laughter show at Club Soda at 7, but then I found out it was a misprint in my schedule and I’m supposed to do that show tonight. So I had the evening free until 11. I went to check out the New Faces show. That’s the biggest industry show they have. It’s a bunch of undiscovered talent that the festival has handpicked to put in front of networks, agents, managers and production companies. They each get a 6 minute set and it’s a nerve racking experience for the comedians. Crush, and you’ve just crushed in front of nearly everybody who needs to know if you’re funny or not. Bomb and you’ve just bombed in front of the people who hold the keys to the locks. One 6 minute set is not the ideal way to tell how talented a person is, but that’s the system that’s been set up. It works way better for girls who get their boyfriends to write their material for them and boys that just started and don’t really have much more time than that.

The show went well. The place was packed, which was a concern for the festival people. The economy and whatnot. Nobody bombed. But the two people who really had good sets were Chris D’elia and more than anybody, Moshe Kasher. He leveled the place. I was surprised at myself for actually rooting for all of them instead of hoping for their failure. I wanted to do that show this year (and last year, and the year before, and the year before, and the year before and the year before and the year before) but they never chose me for it and then they pretty much said this year that I’d grown past that level and I’d never do it so quit trying and just do the Nasty Show. Usually, I would guess that would result in an inner bitterness, but I found that I was pulling for them all and enjoying the actual show and jokes. Plus some girl that I’m visually in love with was sitting in front of me, so that made everything nicer.

After that I rushed over to the Comedyworks on Bishop for the 11pm show. They switched me to 2nd to last, so I had plenty of time to get drunk and high before I went on. I followed Tom Rhodes, who I’d never seen live before. He’s got a good connection level with a crowd. It was nice to see. He seems like a nice dude, too. I had a really fun time up there. I really like playing small rooms. Maybe that’s what’s holding me back. I’ve already achieved what I really want in my heart, I can play those small fun rooms, so I don’t work hard enough to get the next thing. That’s retarded and wrong, but I like it as a theory.

After that we took the shuttle back to the hotel for booze. Len from Skunk came out with his friend. It was a really good time. All the comics and the agents were all mingling together getting drunk and having fun. At some point my friend Kristoff pulled out a joint of something really good and we passed that around in the outside area. It got me fun high. Maybe it was the mixture of beer and pot, but everything was hilarious last night. D’elia and his brother and Kristoff and Len were all cracking me up. I love getting in that mood. A part of you knows you’re only laughing so much because of the pot, but another part of you says, “Shut up, first part of me. Just enjoy the fucking ride.” And then you go back to laughing. I’m really gonna try to do that again tonight. Everybody gets there around midnight or 1 and the bar stays open until 3ish. I was in such a good mood I even managed to laugh at the 9 dollar beer prices. Really? 9 dollars for one Canadian domestic beer? Yes, really. As a Jew I applaud the gaul it takes to charge that much to a bunch of people who are already paying you to sleep there. That’s why a lot of people hate Dick Cheney. They always point to the fact that he invented a war in order to build a business he profits from. “He’s made billions off an illegal war” is what they always say. But I say, “Dude. The guy invented a God damn war just to make money. That’s awesome. I couldn’t even invent a fistfight to make a hundred bucks. But this guy invented a whole war and made billions.” Props to the master.

Well, Ari, congratulations on another blog that doesn’t go anywhere and doesn’t wrap anything up. I started with waking up late and finished with Dick Cheney. Way to waste your BA from Maryland, idiot. Go take a dump.