Reep was sowed on LCS

Saw the Finale of Last Comic Standing, a two hour suckfest. I won’t even comment on the fucking puppets.

I felt really bad for Lavelle Crawford during the roast. I’m nowhere as fat as Crawford but I felt his humiliation from here. Most of the idiots doing the roast were practically strangers and they even managed to get that Jeff-Somebody-Jewboy that appears in every roast special. Crawford let them have it when it was his turn and that was great.

Reep’s roast wasn’t as good.

Either one of the final two could’ve taken established routes to the top, Reep with the Blue Collar set and Crawford with the bruthas, but I’d hardly call it Nostrdamusian to say Reep would win.
My opinion is that no working comic is a loser.

All in all, who cares. I’ve got my own shit to worry about.

Quoticle – a better job would also help, Rich

When you ain’t got no money, you gotta get an attitude.

~ Richard Pryor

Dragonflies and slitting throats

As I go forth to buy a sandwich, thoughts of comedy continue to haunt.

A 1985 book I borrowed called Funny Business (author:  Ken Berryhill) suggests that comics are either “naturally funny” or actors…or both.  Stan Laurel was naturally funny while Oliver Hardy was “an actor from start to finish”.

The book lists several comics who are both naturally funny and actors:  Steve martin, Buddy Hackett, and (ugh) Robin Williams, the last of whom I sometimes like as an actor but as a comic just throws shit against the wall.

Since I’m starting from comedy scratch, I have to figure out if I’m “naturally funny” or an actor.  Claiming to be both at this time would be ludicrous.

I’m leaning more towards “actor” as a self-descriptor, because a naturally funny person would be funny in most situations, while my humor’s energy source is rage and outrage (plus saying one is naturally funny sounds suspiciously close to pricks with the nerve to proclaim, “Well, you know, I’m a genius.”)

As for the actor-side of things, being able to turn talent ‘on and off like a switch’ sounds like sociopathy.  I’ve mildly felt like crying at the sight of a dragonfly with a damaged wing, yet if anarchy broke out, I could think of 3 people whose throats I would slit with the satisfaction of taking a hearty bite of cereal.

Since a real sociopath would feel nothing at seeing both the dragonfly and slitting throats, I’m just a regular paradoxical turd human and not a sociopath (I know throat-slitting is an unsettling topic, especially coming from strangers, but we have no choice.)

I don’t want to be an “angry” comic and I don’t want to use profanity.  Those are my parameters.

I’ll review my jokes later and study some stuff on the internet.   How is it done?  I wonder.

Ernie Elf is the only wigger I like

The main motherfuckin’ Elf in the Keebler Dynasty is named Ernie.  I know this now because I’ve eaten his image too many times from this bag of E.L. Honkies Double Stuffed (fudge) I bought at Wal-Mart tonight.

It’s almost 3AM.  Tho it’s a blessed day off–my first in 8 fucking days–I’ve still got shit to do tomorrow, but here I am, on the internets.  My head is buzzing from sugar and rage.

Comedy:  I went up tonight, brave but unprepared.  My shit bombed harder than Mecca will be after New York becomes Nuked York at some hazy date in the next two decades.  I don’t feel bad, just annoyed that my shit didn’t work.  Aside from a lack of rehearsal, the jokes as they’re written now simply won’t deliver:  they’re like a jumble of bicycle parts, incapable of going anywhere.

There’s a structure to jokes I’ve been neglecting.  I’m more determined than ever to improve, but even as I write lines like I’m more determined than ever to improve, I don’t believe them.  Fuck.