More stand-up comedy?

I did stand-up again last night.

It’s only been 1 year, 4 months, 17 days since the last time I went up.

I rehearsed the most for this one and even got a few laffs.

I realized something last night about stand-up comedy:  I genuinely hate it, yet it’s the only thing I have any talent for doing.

Please take what I have to say next lightly:

I hate crowds, I hate bars and bartenders.  I hate booze, it all burns and tastes like rubbing alcohol and is overpriced.  I hate barmaids and their big or small tits.  I hate tipping.  I hate single women, married women and those in between.  I hate single mothers.  I hate other comics. I hate weakness.  I hate memorizing lines. I hate driving to the club.  I hate not knowing what to wear.  I hate drymouth.  I hate the crowd for being dumb, lapping up the same old shit.  I hate black comics for getting a free pass for being black and loud, not funny.  I hate female comics getting laughs cause some guys might think they have a shot.  I hate couples.  I hate the microphone.  I hate the brick wall.  I hate the spotlights.  I hate the dumbass names of comedy clubs.  I hate the cheesy music.  I hate saxophones.  I hate the MC.  I hate the headliner.  I hate 99% of jokes.  I hate relationships and “just broke up with my girlfriend”.  I hate married humor, fat humor, black humor, drug humor, trendy humor, liberal humor, gay humor.  I hate your sex life.  I hate the PA system.  I hate the front row.  And the back row.  And the middle. I  hate the food runners and club food.   I hate hecklers.  I hate heavy silence.  I hate cheap laughs.  I hate going home alone but more than that I hate leaving home.

I hate comedy and I hate God for only giving me half-a-gift for it.

I hate that this rant is over but it’s time to take a shit.

That’s my time, good night.

Dear Stephanie Courtney (the exotic girl from the Progressive insurance commercials)

(I tried making this post “Private” because I felt like it. It didn’t work, people could still read it, [turdpress FTW!] so here it is, no different. Please worship Satan).

Dear Stephanie, (MAY I call you Stephanie)?

As your character “FLO” from the Progressive commercials gains notoriety, I’d like to say that I think you’re the spun sugar in cotton candy and remind you that all of your other male admirers are gay.

Only I see/saw through the FLO character’s heavy makeup, lipstick and stylish sex-hair to the ebullient soul that is You hiding within the role, swaying like a flower floating in ginger ale.

I just want you to know that if we ever meet really soon, and things went so great that we’re in my room playing strip chess, I’d never demand you dress as the FLO character as part of our bedroom role-playing, because that’s a little too forward right after getting your autograph. These things take time, like waiting for Mother to go out of town so we can have the house to ourselves, you and me, forever!

That said, I eagerly await the next Progressive commercial starring you as FLO, joyously hawking insurance, which everybody needs just like they need…love.

Love,

Meat

P.S. You’re so cute you shit kittens. Please find them a good home!