DON'T Do Drug Glasses.

-Two people in one week told me that paramedics use Coke to clean blood off of streets. That had to have been on Bill Nye last week. There's no way two unrelated people are going to throw that fact around in the same week without Bill Nye being behind it.

-Last week, I mentioned a CNN.com poll that showed 41% of its users believed the Loch Ness Monster is real. A Gallup poll today showed that 41% of Americans believe the Earth is less than 10,000 years old, and humans look like God. Jinkies. I think we know were the problem lies.

-I wrote another blog about my new glasses eliminating my depth perception. This caused me to walk like a jackass and trip over things that didn't exist. I likened them to a hallucinogenic drug, and recommended they be produced for the masses. I am now here to rescind that request. Don't do drugs. And stay in school.

At my brother's wedding, yesterday, the hallucinogenic glasses caught up with me. I now see how people fall into addictions. They start doing meth. It's fun. They're happy. Then they lose teeth and try to pawn them to keep the cycle going. After wearing the drug glasses for three days, I became a "functioning user." I wore them to McDonald's, Best Buy, Borders, even my mom's house. And no one knew I was under the influence of drug glasses... except me.

My world came tumbling down, quite literally, at the wedding.

Back story: As I stated last week, the ground looks as if it's at my waist. The wedding was at a park on the Potomac River. The Potomac River is outside. The ground isn't always flat when you're outside.

After the wedding, while on said "outside ground," I took a couple quick steps (half-jog) on what I perceived to be flat terrain. Oops. It was a ditch, measuring about three feet deep and six feet across. I didn't understand what was happening, but I started tumbling. It was like someone falling down a ski slope at 40 mph. At one point, my feet were straight up, in the air, while my head was on the ground. There were two revolutions before my body came to rest, with my shin on a large, hard rock. I bounced up immediately, thinking no one saw it. Everyone saw it. 80 people saw it. I thought I could walk away and act like everything was okay, but people swarmed to help brush the dirt off. My 84-year-old great-uncle, who watches Comedy Central, came up to me and said, "You should put that in your act." It was hilarious. Normally, it's annoying when people say that. But he sounded like a comic, making fun of people who say, "You should put that in your act." Wedding MVP: H.D. DeHart.

For the next three hours, I would be known as the guy who fell, then lifted his pants' leg to reveal a giant purple knot on his shin. I was also known as the guy was about to do a toast, but forgot he was supposed to do a toast.

My mom told me I would be doing a toast a few days prior to the wedding. I thought it made sense because he's my brother. Then, the day before the wedding, I found out no one else would be doing a toast. I objected. They said I should be the only one to do it. Why? Because I "speak in front of people for a living." I told them it's not the same thing. I'm actually very shy when I'm not on stage or around people I know. I told them there was no way I could stand up, demand everyone's attention and just start talking. They thought I was being a big-shot, like I wanted an opening act. That wasn't the problem. After this, I somehow forgot about the toast.

During the reception, I was asked, "Are you ready to do the toast?" I choked on air for about one second. Then I said something along the lines of, "Sure. Can you give me ten minutes?" The second sentence is the opposite of the first sentence. I don't remember who asked the question, but they didn't notice the contradiction. I scrambled, picked up a napkin and a pen, and made the first set list in the history of weddings.

My step-mom gave me a great opening line. After that, I told stories of how my brother, Brent, tortured me when I was little. First, I talked about how he made me eat dirt when I was 5 or 6, throughout a summer. He got me to do it by telling me it was flavored dirt. There was chocolate, strawberry, peach, and peach cobbler. Peach cobbler was only available on Tuesdays.

Then I told the story of him kidnapping me and trying to convince me he was television's Fall Guy. The story, from my old blog is,

"I have eleven brothers. For a while, when I was little, there were only two us. The year was 1985 or 1986. I was 5 or 6 years old. My brother Brent was 8, 9 or 10. We were both really into a show called “Fall Guy.” He liked it because he actually liked it. I liked it because it was my brother’s favorite show. I don’t think I ever really knew what it was about though.
We used to always get into characters and pretend we were in TV shows, with G.I. Joe being the most frequent game (I was always Chuckles or Snake Eyes). But I didn’t know how to play Fall Guy because I didn’t understand the show. So, one summer day, Brent went outside for a few minutes, then came back in.
“Brent, what are you doing?”
“Brent? Who is Brent?”
“You are.”
“Are you talking about that kid I killed? I’m Fall Guy.”
“What? What are you talking about, Brent? I don’t like this game.”
“Game? It’s not a game. You may be my next victim if you don’t do what I say…”
Of course I knew it was Brent. He tried telling me that he got plastic surgery to look just like Brent, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew it was him. But he never gave in! This day convinced me that Brent could have been a great child actor, because he stayed in character for about four hours, scaring the absolute shit out of me, and making me think that he had to be Fall Guy. Why would Brent stay in character that long? G.I. Joe never went on for more than an hour. But, he had me doing chores for him all day. My mom would call. “We’re doing fine. I’m just hanging out with Fall Guy. Yeah, Fall Guy from TV. No, Brent isn’t here… just me and Fall Guy.” This went on all day, until about 30 minutes before my mom was to come home. At that time, he looked at me and said, “You better not tell anyone I was here.” Then he left.
About five minutes later, he walked back in as Brent and acted like none of it ever happened. "

After that, I told a couple stories about him beating people up who were messing with me. The stories, in brief, are:1) We were on the bus. I was 5. He was 8 or 9. A guy in the seat behind us, was about to pour liquid make-up on my heavenly locks. My brother noticed it, turned, poured the make-up on the guy's face and punched him. 2) The night before my college graduation, we were playing an indoor soccer game. I got tackled hard into the wall, hit my head and collapsed. My arm landed under my leg, and the leg went through my arm, breaking it in seven places. After helping me out of the arena, and calling 911, Brent went back in and tried to fight the entire opposing team, and the ref. When I said that at the wedding, Brent yelled out, "He didn't call the foul!" We'll get back to this in a moment.

Someone, whom I'd never met, approached me to say goodbye. I guess he thought he should say something to the guy who fell. The exchange went as follows.

Him: "[blah blah blah] Nice meeting you. Bye. Have a safe drive back to New York." (I hate it when people tell me to be safe. I'll get into that another time.)

Me: "Nice meeting you too. Have a nice... week."

Then he walked away. I looked at one of my brothers and my step-mom. We all agreed it was awkward. The guy told me not to get in a car accident. The least I could do was tell him to enjoy his life. The problem was, I went about it the wrong way. "Have a nice..." doomed me. There's no way to end that sentence on a Sunday night. Day? No, it's 9 PM. Weekend? No, it's Sunday. Vacation? No one's going on vacation. I almost said, "Have a nice...next weekend." I couldn't say "month." That's so ambitious that it sounds disingenuous. So, I went with, "Have a nice... week." Nothing beyond this week. Just have a good week. After that, you're on your own.

One would think I couldn't have done anything more awkward than the fall and "Have a nice...week." Wrong. My new sister-in-law's grandmother walked up to me as she was leaving. She is a nice, old lady. She looks exactly like the woman from Fried Green Tomatoes. The woman is in her late-80s. Very nice. I can't state that enough. She came up and said she thought my toast was very good and she wished me luck in comedy. I said, "Thank you." I could have and should have left it there. But because she mentioned a story about my brother from the toast, I decided to add, "If anyone messes with Shawn [her granddaughter], Brent will punch them in the face. Bye."

After that, I realized I should refrain from social interaction, at least, for the rest of the day.

Bonus Materials:

-Here is a picture of 11 of the 12. Brent White couldn't be there. White Brent is in the middle. The brothers are, from left to right, Ut, Phong, Dong, Sam, Joaquim, Brent, his wife Shawn, TJ, Jasper, Toric, Allen, Ryan.

-There were ten people at my table during the reception. It was all family, except for my friend Quincy, who is practically family. My brother, Allen, was at the table with two of his three kids. He turned to me and said, "Who played Ron Jeremy?"

"What?"

"Ron Jeremy. I can't remember the guy's name who played him?"

"Ummm... [Looking around to awkward stares] I don't know."

A guy "playing" Ron Jeremy sounded like gay porn, considering the context. I didn't think Ron Jeremy did gay stuff. Then again, I don't really follow the porn scene.

"Yes you do. I can't remember his name."

"You mean Ron Burgundy? That's Will Ferrell."

Then he put his head down and continued to eat.

It was funny that all of us knew who Ron Jeremy was, but we all panicked and pretended to not know. There was no reason for things to get awkward, but if this happened 100 more times, it would be just as awkward every time.