Ryhan (you should spell your name like that) - You can
be the editor if you need to, because this thing ran a
little long. I had a blast writing it and I'll bet a
dollar we get at least two responses. Just to let you
know, if your Web Blog isn't going to except my short
story, I have been shopping it around to other comics
who will be more than happy to put it on their blog.
Let me know what you think of it, seriously.
Jay
Hello, I'm Jay Hastings (read it how Johnny Cash says
it). Anywho, Ryan Conner, the talented comic who's
web blog your reading, has been gracious enough to
share his World Wide Web space with me so that I may
educate young comics, like myself, on how to handle
assholes who should have been wet dreams and aborted
early by their stupid ass daddies back in middle
school, when they Heckle you at Soho Café in Dupont
Circle on a fucking Monday night. This guy was made
of the first sperm a ball ever produced and the first
egg ever dropped from a whore. I don’t like this
person if it hasn’t become obvious, and here’s why.
First, I can admit when I’m not doing well on stage.
And tonight I wasn’t “killing” as they say in this
“bizz.” But, I also don’t think I was verbally
shitting in the audiences ear, and deserved to be
heckled. But not according to Mr. Catch a Rising Star
sitting at the second table from the window next to
the cash registar wearing a LRP: 2001 hat. I opened
the show and started my set with a new joke I have
been playing with. It’s about fat people and
discriminating against them. I know what you’re
thinking: “Why does that joke not kill everytime? Fat
people are gross. And I like potty humor.” Well,
that’s what I thought too. As I was bombing two dudes
right next to the stage are talking their asses off
and I politely ask them to shut the fuck up. I was
not aware of the SoHo rule that comics cannot heckle
the crowd, because that’s when old Filibuster Phil
started flapping his cocksucker about how shitty I
was.
(I do not know this assholes real name but tonight,
it’s Phil.)
Phil says, “You can’t make fun of us. Your job is to
entertain us, and not to make people walk out the
door.” Well, thanks for clearing up the obvious
asshole. That caught me off guard. **note to the
reader: it’s all a little foggy from here on out
because my brain no longer had the gigs to process any
short-term memory because it was overloaded with white
hot haterd. Phil, says a couple of other things just
digging at me. Well, I did the classic, "Guess what
asshole, I've got the mic and I'm gonna be louder than
you so you don't fucking win," routine. And then I
believe it was around 9:17 eastern coastal time the
spirit of Bill Hicks and Judge Judy’s love child came
out of my mouth. Once I started yelling I couldn’t
stop. I felt like I was in that radical Scream
Theropy. It felt really good. I’m talking bloody
murder, “My childs in that car!,” type screaming. My
set was basiclly me screaming profanities at this boob
milk stain until I ran out of breath. Then he would
fire back, “Your still not funny. You don’t know what
comedy is.” Really? I beg to differ. While some
people might have seen terrified, frightened faces in
the crowd I saw comedy. Because I was unleashing
gold. There was a lot of “motherfuckers”, “assholes”,
“I wish you had been an abortion,” type humorous
insults. I think I said some things that Andrew Dice
Clay would be ashamed of. I just continue hitting
below the belt. It’s like Phils balls were a speed
bag and I had the sweetness. That eventually led to
Phil challenging me to, “Say that shit to my face.”
Which led to my, “Why don’t you just call my mom a
whore, and push me down on the playground at recess,”
childish playground fight retort. I was failing fast.
Screaming hatred at people is very hard. It takes
endurance. I don’t know how Hitler did it. So since
I was feeling the burn I pulled out my comedy Gatorade
and tried to get the audience reading for the fourth
quarter. But sadly, not even the “Do you think herpes
sores have ever spelled out “herpes” and saved a blind
person a lot of trouble?”, could save the crowd. It
was a lost cause.
As soon as I stepped off stage my mind was put to rest
because I received a few congrats from some people,
but more than anything I got thank yous. It turns out
Phil is a goddamn douche bag to everybody.
Apparently, Phil is the fly in a lot peoples soup.
And now that I know that I don’t feel bad. I feel
even better. Because what I said to him tonight, a
lot people have been wanting to say. I set some
things straight tonight. I wasn’t the asshole comic
who can’t take the high road. I was the good Karma
that floats around and bites dickheads like Phil in
the taint. So, in closing I just want to say, “Your
Welcome Soho and I’ll see you next week.”
P.S. I’m gonna kill that motherfucker! | |
1 Comments:
I wanted to leave a comment as you worked so hard in writting that piece.
I was not at the show, but I hate it that people don't pay more respect to the comics there...
Hope you do you killing on stage next week but it is nice to see you have options.
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