Comedy Apprentice

Shot Glass Thought: Commitment is Not My Problem

Some people like to go on long walks or worse still, hike. I like, prefer and insist on short walks. That has a lot to do with the ever deteriorating ligament damage in my ankles, but also it has to do with time. Long walks are like almost everything in life, a commitment that I am not willing to make. I won't be inspired to be romantic with a date just because we spent 2 and a half hours sweating in the woods together. That would be like if I developed an all encompassing obsession with engineering after tying my shoes and realizing that Back to Future told us the shoes would tie themselves by now. Maybe it's not exactly the same but it would still be a huge commitment that I would not want to make either way. I've had plenty of female teachers and male for that matter, tell me that if I committed to my work I would be just so much better off now. A lot of those teachers were art teachers. If commitment is all it takes, then how come there has never been a female Michealangelo? Where is the female Da'Vinci? There hasn't even been a female Basquiat. So if you take history seriously, you might think that the commitment issues aren't on the male side of things after all.

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Short Funny Story: The Barman Doesn't Leave You in The Dark

I like the look of my own face. It's a good face honestly. It looks best when it's smiling and tending bar/serving does put a smile on my face. Where else can you make bank by helping people have a great time? I don't care if both my knees blow out and they have to wheel me around behind the bar, if I never make it in comedy, I'll just keep tending bar!

But back to my face. I have a big nose and "piercing eyes". They have also been called psychotic eyes but those were the words of some psychotic bitches that I have since left behind. (No I haven't been reading your emails, I asked you to please TURN OFF ALL CAPS) Many people feel a bit put off or excited by my gaze and why not? I'm a total stud. I'm the bartender dude, the lifelong mission of every cool guy is to be the cool guy that hands out alcohol. By the standards of many a cool guy, I'm already as cool as I could possible be. Thanks to the modern marvels of depression meds, I'm also a happy cool guy too. But being behind the bar and on pills doesn't mean that I've forgotten about the abyss, it just means I moved it to my spam folder even though I know that it contains a perfectly valid bill that I don't intend to pay right now but certainly will have to later.

My coolness and face aside, I could never work another kind of job job after having handed out the alcohol. Sometimes the handing out of the booze is very stressful, especially so when there are a great many people and you have to do it very fast. But I can't ever see myself trading in the cocktail shakers for a company hat and retirement plan as the guy who cuts off the electricity when you don't pay your bill on time. I would try to apply the same friendly warm charm that I use to welcome bar patrons on people that would not ever want anything to do with me. I mean, I could get yelled at. Not a big deal for most, but I have my feelings and my ego to think about. I need to feel like I do a cool thing for cool people and being around me makes them happy. Putting people in the dark and cold would not accomplish that feeling.

How did I end up like this? You mean, perfect? Well I can't explain all that but drinking until you blackout for three years and then one day waking up to the worst alcohol induced anxiety imaginable has a way of molding you. Yes I hid in the bathroom from my roommates and was convinced that they might be planning to kill me, but what if they were? I would have been safe long enough to call the cops and be rescued. The preservation of my life is a boon to all. Plus, you don't know these guys like I do. You ever felt nervous like somebody might be watching you fap through your webcam? Well your instincts were right, because my roommates were the ones watching you. They are totally "not into that stuff dude" they just like to be were they shouldn't be. Like a ghost that haunts a house that he didn't die in. It's fucking weird. They might have been ghosts.

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Shot Glass Thought: Factory Worker Career Change to Massage Therapist

I want to meet people that have interesting career changes like factory worker for general motors to massage therapist. The thought processes of people who are able to change from one extreme to another and display adequate competency in either would be fascinating interviews. Or maybe they would bore me to death because I am expecting there to be a "Take this steering column and shove it, I'm gonna rub shoulders from now on." Maybe it went like "I always loved cars until I realized I could make the same living by smearing cream on naked women. That seemed like a pretty good deal." Let's say that it's a woman that wants to change from massage therapist to Ford motor maker. She'd say something like "Well smearing cream on wrinkly old men was okay for a while, but I got a bit tired of all the solicitation for sexual favors."

I've never had a massage and I'm not sure that I ever will. I wouldn't mind giving massages, but I don't want any part of me massaged unless it's my wang. No pda, if you're touching me then it should be leading up to something. If I'm touching you, it could be whatever I don't really care. Not like I'm going to develop feelings for you anyway. "Why are you such an asshole?" I don't really know...but you can leave now. "I could have left at any time, but I stayed because I care for you. Don't you see that??" Barf, barf, etc. It's been a few minutes now and I'm realizing that I'm definitely off topic. This could be cue to get back on topic but I think I'll just dip out here and have some depression ice cream. I prefer Oreo or orange creamcicle tubs to help divert me from the ever encroaching abyss.

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Shot Glass Thought: Pothead Warlords and Prostitutes

So we often hear that if you are smoking pot at a young age then you will likely take to more extreme and destructive behaviors later on. By that logic, I wonder if there has ever been a pothead that just smoked dope for a few years, did nothing with his life and then just became an international arms dealer out of nowhere. Because that would meet my definitions for extreme and destructive behavior. Have any potheads ever just weaseled their way into public office and started destroying almost everything they touch? Demonstrating a need and desire to serve only their needs and desires? I wonder how many potheads have been mass shooters? How many pothead serial killers are there out there? I can't say because I don't know, but there sure are a fuck ton of potheads in prison. I've never had a guy stagger out of his apartment at 2am to scream at me before he started puking from being too high. I left him in his puke, by the way. I hope you're not disappointed if you took me for the good Samaritan. I didn't flick him off either. I did try to think of a witty one liner for his situation but all I said was "ah well, yes now you are puking." When something that doesn't make sense happens I find it best to begin narration. I do know some basic whores that will have sex with someone for weed. But I think that's from being lazy, no morals having, entitled brats. But that's probably just my privilege speaking. I'm sure that I don't understand their situation or circumstances because I'm not a woman. But I would understand that after a couple years of that behavior they would likely have some kind of herpes.

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Book Review: A Layman's Guide to Psychiatry and Psychoanalysis (1957)

I started this book the way that I start all books, by opening to a random page and letting intuition decide where on that page I begin reading. The first passage I read was about eating and having energy, so the book loses points for that. The title of this book told me that I would learn how to read minds if I picked it up. I don't need to know about energy, unless you're telling me that I can develop psychic energy to make things levitate or something like that. I want knowledge of actual super powers not actual facts. Which one would you rather be, superhero or super nerd? Yea me too, although I'm pretty much already super nerd.

Next passage I picked at random had to do with the Id and the Ego. Neither of which do I know about in Freud's terms, but I do know that satisfying my ego is the only reason why I rise from the bed each morning. It's also the reason why I do anything at all. My ego is my own siren call. Every time that I've been had it was because I convinced myself that obviously really awesome, pretty much implausibly good stuff happens and should happen to me. Like how when I get started discussing quirks with the hottest girl in the bar. I soon find out that she believes that her all encompassing obsession with demonology is a quirk. It's not a quirk, it's just scary and talking about it with you makes my balls shrink to the size of raisins.

The book is dated, obviously if you saw the date in the title, then you already knew that. But it is fun to look back on what was once taken for expertise. I wouldn't know what parts are dated or not, because I'm a comic not a fucking doctor. But for my part I love to read and I love the smell of old books. So this one is probably getting a recommendation from me either way. It was also really cheap, which won't sell you on the idea of finding another exact copy of this book, but it might sell you on your local used book store. These places are great and are the lowest cost, highest value entertainment that you can find. Where else can you pick up books about T-Rex, Nietzsche's Superman and DC's Superman all for less than it costs to eat one meal at Wendy's?

One section talks about how we are born with an urge to kill and how it's somehow linked to wanting to have sex. I'm not too sure about that one. After before and during sex, my mind never strays to killing. That would probably scare me. I'd definitely go talk to someone professional if while pounding away on some box it occurred to me "I've got a really sharp chef knife like 3 feet from this bed." My apartment is a studio, technically the knife is always within reaching distance. I just imagined my naked self running around my small apartment with a chef knife and yakety sax was playing in my head. That's this song is you don't recognize it by the name: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=39&v=Zcq_xLi2NGo

I felt very absorbed and in the moment while reading this book. I skipped around like I said, but it was a lot of fun. It made me wonder what the lives were like of those who had held and made use of this book over the years. It was very interesting and I think everyone should enjoy an old book like this sometime. A book that is as old as this is worth more to me that going to see a new movie in theaters. To me it's like the difference in watching your friend throw down a windmill dunk and actually owning a working windmill. I don't know what windmill's are used for, crushing grain I think? But if I could have one, I'd definitely have one. Because it's awesome, it's old and it might make people think that I'm more of an artisan than I could ever actually be. A local journalist could totally expose me for not knowing jack about crushing grain.

The section on what a drug addict is was a bit eye opening. The experiences of the drug addict described in the book are the same as what you'll find today, tremendous suffering. The book said that drug addicts become addicts of the mind. I'm not sure if that means that they thought morphine addiction was only in your head or what. But it's definitely not just in your head. That part read the way most addiction writing reads today, as though a lot more research needs to be done.

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Shot Glass Thought: Where We Need to Look For Back Pain

I think if I were going to study and correct the effects of back pain, I would be researching and testing on the members of the professional wrestling community. I don't think they would mind giving consent for testing as they seem to already have a "Who gives a fuck dude?? Woohoo!!" kind of attitude. I don't care how fake people say it is, I can see with my own two eyes that gigantic men are lifting other gigantic men and gigantic objects at times. My back hurt when I did landscaping and that was mostly just lifting a weed eater. Not a gigantic one either. Like a bush hog attached to a winy little engine and a stick to hang onto. My back was hurting pretty bad when I was doing construction work and the stuff that we were lifting around wasn't too all heavy. My fingers hurt pretty bad from clanging them with the hammer because I missed the nail every other swing. None of what we lifted was the size of another human being. I don't want to tell doctors and back pain researchers how to do their jobs, but I'm pretty fucking great at having ideas, so just think about it I guess.

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Comedy Story: I Am the Guy Who Sings at Work

I am that jackass who loves the sound of his own voice so much that he sings at work and no I am not sorry. I think that I got so good at it because I once signed up for singing lessons but when I went to the venue all they had me do was chant spells. They said it was a warm up exercise but a group of priests barged in and started throwing holy water everywhere so I dipped out.

First of all, everyone knows that they want to hear me sing. I sing like Michael Phelps swims. My vibrato is as epic as Tiger Wood's putting and infidelity records. His infidelity is way more interesting and inspiring to me than any of his other accomplishments. I mean anyone can gold, but what is life like when your batting average is apparently 100%? I mean it must be pretty good.

Everyone loves beautiful music, and that is what effortlessly springs forward from my soul. If I were a chick singing the way that I do at work, then there would be some creep in the kitchen who would memorize every possible route in town to my apartment after having one conversation. A conversation where he would mostly be looking at my tits. Because if I were a chick I'd be a bad bitch dude.

Work can sometimes have terrible music playing, I can cure that by singing louder than what is playing. I'm always having to raise my voice in order to talk over the voices in my head, so why not extend that ability to my work companions?

My voice brings me closer to all the people that I work with, and everyone wants to be around me, so it's for the best that I sing. Without me, morale could dip dangerously low. When you hear me sing it's like that moment when you finally find the Facebook profile of the girl you bumped into while getting coffee. You spent the next 4 hours refreshing her page every 10 seconds and you don't regret a second of it because she's that amazing. That's my voice in a nutshell.

Tell you truth, I would stop singing at work if someone asked me to, but they never have and likely never will. Because it's fucking flawless and everybody except haters and the deaf can hear that.