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Thursday, April 28, 2011

Pissy People Don’t Find Me Funny And The Fans I Don’t Want

Bitch, bitch, bitch. Shut up and go away.
I performed stand-up comedy from 1989 to 1997, and have been writing humorous material since 1995. Over all those years, I’ve learned that pissy people don’t find me funny. I’ve also uncovered the fans I don’t want.

Pissy people are hard to crack. I’ve been able to snuggle a snort from some of the toughest rednecks and bikers. I’ve made fat guys chortle, women giggle, old ladies shake and fart, college kids howl, Mormons snicker, Catholics blush, Atheists screech OMG, and did it all in the spirit of fun. However, those damn pissy folks keep gritting their teeth and staring.

I think when pissy people come to my blog they bite their mouse or punch their screens.

One thing I’ve learned about pissy people is that the closer to the truth I am, the madder they get. It’s called striking a nerve. Oh yeah, zap that nerve. And once I see where your nerves are, I’m coming back at the same thing until you collapse or leave.

Sorry, union rules for humorists.

After so much time on the stage, writing a blog with humorous posts is like stand-up in time delay. I write the piece, post it and then a few hours or a day or two later I get all kinds of positive feedback, LOL, LMAO, ROFL, Hahahahahaha and other Internet laughing code.

Since I figured out how to use the hashtags (# sign) on Twitter, I’ve been able to get more feedback in real time – or relatively real time.

It may sound funny, but I get a “feeling” or sense a “mood” from the tweets I get in reply. And invariably, there are a couple people that you can tell are just mad, angry, MF’ers. Their replies are, “You call that humour?” (Hint… that one came from England. They can’t spell English over there.)

If you’re a pissy crab, piss off and go stalk someone else. I don’t need you or want you. I’m here to party and throw in some interesting, thoughtful stuff so that our IQ’s don’t drop too much through the course of the day.

Another group of people I don’t want are racists.

I did a comedy gig in the early 1990’s in Orangeburg, South Carolina. It was one of the strangest shows I ever worked. We were performing at a bar, not a comedy club – this was a common venue in the 1990’s – a bar. We performed to a large room full of chairs set up like it was a business conference at a hotel. There was an aisle down the middle of the chairs, leading directly to the microphone.

As the crowd shuffled in, something really strange happened. All the black people sat on the left side and all the white people sat on the right side. Everyone on the left was dressed in their Sunday best. On the right was a collection of stereotypical rednecks. It looked like someone had shoved Larry The Cable Guy into a copy machine and made a hundred guys and gals that looked exactly like Larry. Besides the missing buttons and sleeves on the right, there were a lot of missing teeth.

As the show commenced, the black people on the left were laughing their asses off. The seedy crowd on the right didn’t get a lot of the jokes. I felt like I was winging Frisbees over their heads. I was hoping one would catch a Frisbee in his mouth and I could give him a treat.

After the show, the black people nodded approval and cleared out of the bar rather quickly. I was left with the Larry clones. One walked up to me and said, “How do you like the way we got our niggers trained?” Being 1,500 miles from home, alone and having a pocket full of cash from the gig, I didn’t want to show him my “You’re a dumbass” T-shirt.

I couldn’t believe he said that. And Goober wasn’t finished. He added, “You seen those slave shacks out along the highway. Well, we’s keepin’ ‘em there so those niggers know where they may wind up again.” Fortunately, I never did that gig again.

Sometimes you need someone with a bit of wisdom to get your head straight. My ex-father-in-law said, “You’ll never screw my daughter again.”

Besides that, he used to say, “Every person I meet is a superior to me at something.” So, he taught me to value everyone. Even Goober. Who knows, maybe I’d want to learn how to fish with a used tampon as bait. I’m sure he’d know.

Not everyone will love me. And I won’t love everyone back. I’m just looking for a small niche of one to two million people that think I’m hilarious. If you are in that group, raise your hand, now. OK… you need to check your deodorant before you come back here.

And that’s why pissy people don’t find me funny. And you also know the fans I don’t want.

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