Comedy in Los Angeles

I’ve gotta be able to think of something. Posting something on this blog about comedy or something. here it is…  I’m going to write about LA comedy life and spike it with some jokes so it’s more fun to read.

I saw shamu giving birth to a baby whale when I was a kid at sea world.  I thought this was a beautiful thing and a sign that they were treating the whales really well.  Then, I saw the show with freakin’ flaming hoop jumping and voluntary beaching of themselves.  These whales even let a tasty child, pet their tongues.  Then, I realized they could teach whales anything.  “Baby whale, you swim inside the mother, bite a blood capsule, and Mamma, you push it out.” They prolly did that miracle of birth routine 7 times a day. It was prolly a dwarf whale.

Been going to a lot of standup shows and let me tell you, I feel sorry for the audiences most of the time.  Why do people come to these shows?  They’re irritating.  A bunch of comedians gathering on a stage to spit into a mic about how sucky their comedian lives are.

Girls like to dress up like cats to be sexy, but this is crazy.  Cats are not hot. I have never heard of a single human doing sex to a feline.  Ladies, if you want to arouse men, try dressing up like a woman… or a horse, or a sheep, or a cantaloupe… or a jar of peanut butter, or a fist.  You’ll find love in my home.

I try to become friends with the comedians, but it’s hard because I feel uncomfortable not telling them what I think of their acts.  I love people and I like being clear with them even if they don’t believe my honesty.  I figure most of you are the same way.  Imagine if every friendship you’ve had began with that future pal’s failure to fulfill his dream.

My doctor called me to day. he said “You’re going to need penis surgery”

I was like, “Who is this?”

“Your doctor.”

“I don’t have a doctor.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have penis surgery without one.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“How do I know?”

“You’re gullible.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really it’s me… Dad.”

“Oh, hi Dad.”

“Gotcha.  I just did that to prove how gullible you are.”

“What time’s my surgery?”

You become friends usually because you believe in them and whether they’re on a path toward a dream or just great people, you want them to succeed at everything.  My situation makes it hard.

You take away racism, then comes classism, without classism, there would be no more capitalism, then jism, next prison.  There will be no prison. There will be convicts of all colors running the streets and noone will step up and say, “Wait, prison, isn’t an ‘ism’ it’s an ‘ison'” because without jism, smart people won’t be born anymore.

The end result, I don’t befriend them all.  There are a few who work really hard and they deserve audiences and I feel like I can be honest with them.  I guess this is how normal people do friendships.  I’ve always been into giving anyone a chance.

Bags of dog food look a lot like bags of charcoal, and they’re often stocked near each other.  Which came first and why do they want to sabotage each other?

Been thinking a lot about the whole pass/fail aspect of performing.  I like objective art — art with a goal.  I guess if you’re just a performing artist, you can do whatever you want, but if you consider yourself an entertainer, you’ve kinda set yourself up with a goal.

I personally want to entertain.  I have always felt that if the crowd has side conversations or doesn’t thoroughly enjoy themselves, I failed.  My goal is to have the audience feel that feeling that I felt that made me feel like being in the performing field.

“Grandpa, let’s go to this movie.  It looks cool.”  “Terrific.  What does cool mean?”

Entertaining is something I’ve worked at really hard to do well.  Here are some phrases I hear regularly from performers that I consider cop-outs and kind of insults to the blue-collar side of hard work in entertainment and to audiences in general:

  • “He’s a natural” ( nobody is )
  • “It’s a bad crowd” / “Bad room” ( then leave it to good performers )
  • “They don’t get me” / “My stuff is too smart for this room” ( you’re not smart enough to connect )
  • “I’m glad I’m not doing my good material in front of this crowd” ( huh? )
  • “You can’t entertain everyone all the time” ( isn’t that your job? )

I’m into the controlled death situation.  I’m gonna have death insurance.  Forget life insurance dispose of me as cheaply as possible.  A mulcher’s cheap.  But death insurance means like paying a hitman to take care of you when it’s time.

What I’d like to happen is I’m in the hospital with all the tubes and wires… Neil Patrick Harris comes in as doogie howser md. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s trying to read my charts and everything is going wrong. Then, somehow he gets tangled and accidentally unplugs me.  Wouldn’t it be great if my last words were “Doogie, NO!”

I think this is what I have to share.  I’m not ranting nor complaining. I don’t think it will change, but this is the situation I’m in — trying to have social success in a difficult situation.

0 thoughts on “Comedy in Los Angeles

  • Hello,

    Well, I am just random stranger living in Los Angeles and here I am reading through your blog. I must say that you are quite entertaining not to mention whimsical.

    Anyhoo, I have do have an opinion with a statement you had mentioned above: “Grandpa, let’s go to this movie. It looks cool.” “Terrific. What does cool mean?”.

    Here is the story:

    So, it’s Monday morning and I feel great! I had a full night sleep –and (GOD!) I needed it–oh-so-desparately! It has been 2 weeks with an average of 3 hours of nights sleep.

    Anywaysz–last night, I was awake (again!) and pondered on about being cool (kewl in my case :). I mean–gosh I never thought that I would lose sleep over whether I was cool. For one, I’ve never really cared whether people perceived me as such. Smart? That, I wanted. Fun? Hell YA! Witty, charming, strangely irresistible? (That would be nice.)

    But ‘cool”, which seemed such an amorphous adjective, bestowed –oh–so —casually—AND—so often as to be deprived of true meaning, was never an attribute to top my list of aspire–to’s.


    So, last night, ‘cool’ got into my head. (you will probably think i am so some sort of a nutter–but here goes–NOTHING!). As we drifted to sleep, the SLG (supreme love goddess!) I was therefore shocked when he replied simply: ‘No.’

    Suddenly, I felt so betrayed. I whine and said ‘Why da hell not–dude!’

    ‘I dont know, jod. you just arent.’

    ‘You mean I’m not even a little cool?’



    ‘Babe, I know you. You’re adorable, but you’re not kewl.’

    I mean–what a nighter! I defintely do think that jameson was spike! I mean I just layed there as if nothing were amiss, my SLG (we can call him the traitor) at my side–flipped his off switch and lay there, breathing heavily–AND OH!—apparently unburneded by the fact that he had just proclaimed me completely unKEWL!!!!

    And so, in the darkness. I flipped and said (as I take a deep breath)–where is my ______??? I mean, is this true? And why do I hell care? Really?

    So yeah, I’d looked mockingly to those who even aspired coolness. WHAT A WASTE OF TIME, I thought. Silly people, rendering themselves uncool simply in the act of chasing it….

    My point being?

    Am so glad……no need to be around kewlness….just be.

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