FUCK You/Not Leaving
Guess what? I'm going to act like I didn't stop writing these weekly hoaxes in 2004, and hope I can jump back in and be consistent. KilBaby recently turned seven. He's starting to get wise, but he still thinks his Minecraft Creeper toy will turn Real if he loves it enough. Does anyone remember Pinky, my pitbull? She stayed with the Russian when we broke up. She lost a leg to cancer, lived a few more active years, swimming 3 legged in the Atlantic, then died, a much-loved dog.
I'm not sure why I'm still doing standup, except I still have shit to say. In LA, I lose money most times I leave the house, because I need a babysitter. A typical set costs me about 50.00. If I don't do a lot of spots, I won't have new jokes and I'll lose my rhythm. And then I'll suck on the road. So I pay money in LA to make money everywhere else. I've calculated that, as a standup, I can maintain and/or grow (slowly) on 2-4 sets a week, so that's usually how many I do. I miss putting my kid to bed these nights, it hurts. Soon he'll be one of those too-cool teenagers and then he'll go to college and that's that. These are the last years where he will fall asleep in my arms as I read The Velveteen Rabbit, or ask me to hide the stuffed brown bear in another room because it has red eyes, and red eyes are scary.
And what am I doing on half of these nights? Scurrying off to tell jokes, like a guilty rat.
I remember, long ago, hearing parent-comics lament the price of comedy and I would think, "So what? Get out of the business then, and take care of your stupid kid. You're weak and your taking up space onstage that should go to me." Now that I'm that person, I say to my former self, "fuck you, I'm not leaving. And good luck following me with your hollow talk about your boring little life."
I'm not sure why I'm still doing standup, except I still have shit to say. In LA, I lose money most times I leave the house, because I need a babysitter. A typical set costs me about 50.00. If I don't do a lot of spots, I won't have new jokes and I'll lose my rhythm. And then I'll suck on the road. So I pay money in LA to make money everywhere else. I've calculated that, as a standup, I can maintain and/or grow (slowly) on 2-4 sets a week, so that's usually how many I do. I miss putting my kid to bed these nights, it hurts. Soon he'll be one of those too-cool teenagers and then he'll go to college and that's that. These are the last years where he will fall asleep in my arms as I read The Velveteen Rabbit, or ask me to hide the stuffed brown bear in another room because it has red eyes, and red eyes are scary.
And what am I doing on half of these nights? Scurrying off to tell jokes, like a guilty rat.
I remember, long ago, hearing parent-comics lament the price of comedy and I would think, "So what? Get out of the business then, and take care of your stupid kid. You're weak and your taking up space onstage that should go to me." Now that I'm that person, I say to my former self, "fuck you, I'm not leaving. And good luck following me with your hollow talk about your boring little life."
