“Find something you love to do and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” Obviously, the guy who said that never tried a career in Show Business. The fact is, it’s hard to make a living in this town if you’re chasing a dream. It is simple supply and demand. In entertainment, demand is relatively low compared to the supply. Every day in Hollywood, dozens of new people come here with a guitar and a dream, or a joke and a dream, or a script and a dream, and nine times out of ten, all they end up with is a job with an apron and a dream.

“Technically, porn is still acting. I’m so broken.”

I’ve been having employment on the brain lately. Not sure why. Maybe the recession. Maybe the Gulf Oil Spill. Maybe I’m getting to that age where I should start giving a shit about money. Whatever it is, I thought I’d share some thoughts I’ve had recently about the topic of employment.

First of all, I think we can all agree that work sucks. I don’t care what your job is. I don’t care about how you feel about your job. Your job sucks ass and I can prove it to you with one question. Does your company ever recruit? Job fairs? Monster.com? Careerbuilder? Craigslist? If the answer is yes then ding ding ding ding, tell ‘em what they’ve won, Johnny! That’s right, it’s a shitty ass job!!

Two shitty ass jobs.

You see, anything you have to recruit for, inherently, blows goat balls. If it didn’t, people would be lined up to do it. The job, not blowing the goat balls. Corporations, the Military, Religion, if they’re recruiting, bring out the goat. That’s why comedy is so awesome. You’ll never go to a job fair and hear, “Have you ever considered a career in stand-up comedy?” Never, and do you know why you’ll never hear it? Because comedy does not suck. People will volunteer to do it.

Last Comic Standing 1956

How absolutely tragic is it that the unemployment rate still hovers around 10%? That there are educated, skilled, good hearted folks out there with no job and little hope? That everyday, more people are getting laid off and they don’t know how they are going to feed their family? How sad is that? And yet, some guy over at the Coors Light Research and Development team just got a big, fat raise for having the brilliant idea to cut a hole in a beer box and call it a “window.” Are you fucking kidding me? Is that the best they can do? Coors Light with windows? “Why the fuck does a fucking beer box need a fucking window?!” I screamed at the Indian kid standing next to me in the liquor store. He didn’t know but his mother did. Apparently, it’s so you can see the mountains on the can turn blue when it’s cold enough to drink. Call me judgmental but if you need your beer to tell you when it is okay to drink then maybe you’re not the type of person who should be drinking alcohol in the first place. You got some things you need to take care of first, like a vasectomy.

Coors reminds you to drink responsibly.

And don’t try to act like this whole temperature sensitive material thing is something new and revolutionary. Did we not learn anything from HyperColor shirts? People don’t give a shit and they won’t buy it. And I’m asking you to not buy it. Fuck those lucky, no talent hacks over at Coors. They need to be relieved of their duty like General Stanley McChrystal.
Speaking of General Stanley McChrystal, this week, the unemployment rate got a little bit higher when President Obama gave ole Stanley his walking papers. Apparently, the man over seeing the war in Afghanistan got fucked up in a bar in Paris with a bunch of commandos and a young reporter from Rolling Stone and decided to reenact the house party scene from “Almost Famous.”

“I am a 5 star Golden God!”

People were shocked to hear a General act so callously on the record and they couldn’t believe he didn’t show more restraint when expressing his opinions of the Obama administration, in particular Vice President Biden. Shocked? Really? Didn’t they know what this guy was? Before being put in charge of the war, Stanley McChrystal was in charge of all Black Ops in the United States Military. What did they think was going to happen? I’ve seen enough of the Bourne movies to know how those guys view authority and we’ve already established that being in the military is a shitty job. So, basically, the White House promoted the real life equivalent of Colonel Trautman to be the voice of the Afghanistan war.

“If you decide to withdraw troops from Afghanistan, don’t forget one thing. A good supply of body bags.”

And then they got mad when he spoke the truth.

“You want me in that sand. You need me in that sand!”

Of course this is nothing new. These days, countries are no different than corporations. In the effort to maintain an impossible veil of competence, the right person for the job is often cast aside to make room for the person who says all the right things. Even if what’s being said is total bullshit or Coors Light with windows.

“Ass” was the fifth word in his sentence in the first sentence of his set. I think the first four were, “ You ever notice somebody’s…?” And just like that, the MC, holding his own mic and sitting off to the side of the stage interrupted and said, “OK, that’s all. Thank you very much. Our next comic coming to the stage…” The comic’s audition was over before he could even tell his first joke. This was at the Laugh Factory here in Hollywood not two months ago. They call it an open mic but it really is an audition. Comics show up at around 2:30 in the afternoon to wait in line until 5:00 to try to get the first ten to fifteen spots for the following week’s “open mic.” The rules are simple. You get three minutes. The owner watches. If he likes you, you get “passed” to do a showcase. You have to be clean. Apparently, “ass” is dirty not just in the literal sense of the word.

I found it amazing that the owner of a comedy club would deem, “ass” as offensive all the while a billboard in front of his establishment advertised for the movie, “Kick Ass.” I remember marveling at how stringent they were to their cursing rule. To drive the point home further, the following comic, an elderly woman in her sixties, made it all the way through her set without interruption and without cursing. However, her entire set was about fucking men her age and Viagra and the real possibility that her wrinkled pussy could kill a man. But she didn’t curse. Not offensive at all. The thought I had before my set was, they don’t seem to care about content. Just don’t curse. No problem. I’m a pro.

I was about one minute into my set when I did my bit about how Muslims throw their shoes when upset. Here’s the punch line: “…cause in the Muslim culture, throwing your shoes at somebody is the highest form of disrespect you can show another human being. Okay. Where do you think suicide bombing falls on that list of disrespectful things?” I know, gold right? I got about half way into my next sentence when that fucking MC interrupted me. “OK, that’s all. Thank you very much. Our next comic coming to the stage…”

Son-of-a-bitch! I didn’t curse at all and they gave me the hook. I was fuming. As I left the Laugh Factory that evening, I saw a sign on the door. I can’t remember it verbatim but it said something like this, “Due to the incident on November 17, 2006 (Michael Richards meltdown), we here at the Laugh Factory want you to know that we will not condone offensive material regarding race, religion, culture, etc…If at any time you are offended, please let us know…” Because of the Michael Richards incident, the fucking Laugh Factory now wants to put a leash on all the comedy that goes through there. Now you may be thinking that the elderly woman’s comedy was self-deprecating while mine was commentary on a religious group. But really, how would anybody know if I’m Muslim? And it’s not like I was saying that all Muslims are suicide bombers. I was simply telling the truth that, right now, all suicide bombers are fucking Muslim. But that’s neither really here nor there. I don’t need to defend my set. I told you this story to demonstrate what I’ve been seeing as a growing and concerning trend in stand-up comedy; the censorship of comedians to protect the sensibilities of those in the audience who might get offended. Well fuck that shit!

The Laugh Factory is not the only club guilty of censorship. Comedy contests, clubs and rooms all over this country are subscribing more and more to the “clean only” school of comedy. The World Series of Comedy Contest held in Las Vegas has it right there in the entry form. “Not too dirty. When you’re a headliner, you can curse all you want.” A booker recently just told me that she was hesitant to book me because of a set online of me doing seven minutes on religion. It’s not even dirty. It just makes fun of God. Like God can’t take a joke. God made marijuana, birth defects and Tyra Banks for Christ’s sake! If God didn’t like comedy, do you really think She would have created farts? Of course not and do you want to know how I know? She told me while I was high on mushrooms, farting and having sex with conjoined twins.

The purveyors of this clean comedy coalition call themselves righteous for steering up and coming comedians away from the blue material. They think they are doing comics a favor by forcing them to work clean. After all, cruise ships and corporate events don’t pay to hear dick jokes. And that’s all well and good if you got into comedy to work on cruise ships and corporate events. But I didn’t and I don’t think most comics did. And if you got into comedy to do that, you should stay the fuck out of comedy clubs and open up a room in a vegan coffee shop.

Another argument I hear is that it forces a comedian to be funny without having to rely on saying, “fuck” every other word. What a bullshit argument. Do you want to know what forces a comedian to be funny even more than working clean? Silence from the audience, which is exactly what a comedian would get if they say, “fuck” every other word.

I’m going to leave you with this to think about. Who was the first comedian who really made an impression on you? Nine times out of ten, the answer is Carlin or Pryor or Bruce or Murphy and the tenth time you’ll hear Cosby. Okay, I’ll give you Cosby. But my point is that the game changers of stand-up. The ones who really left a mark would never censor themselves. That was the whole idea. Stand-up comedy is THE last bastion of free speech. Be it curse words or content or both, the idea is to get to speak the things that others think but can’t speak for themselves. If that involves a little cursing or the mocking of a group of people then so be it. In a comedy club, the only thing that is offensive is telling the comics what they can and cannot say.

An ominous shadow of mediocrity casts over pop culture. It’s as ever-present as it is gloomy. You’d think I’d be used to it, being born into Reagan’s America and all. To some sad extent, I am used to it. Used to the kink in my neck obtained from shaking my head in disapproval toward whatever’s being spat at me. Lately, though, it’s just been a little harder to dismiss the distaste. The media’s behavior is beyond unscrupulous. It’s deplorable. Downright shitty, if you will. If you won’t, you should. Trust me on this one.

I can’t check out at Ralph’s and pass the magazine rack without catching a hideous glimpse of how warped the media’s sensibilities are in my peripherals. I can’t make a trip around the dial without being stalked by banality. We’re practically smothered by it. Just when you think they’ve bottomed out in the quality/ taste department, the rabid rodents keep burrowing lower.

Who likes mediocrity? Most people. What do they know? Not enough, unfortunately. Power in numbers, being what it is, those of us with…(what’s the word…haven’t heard it used in so long)…standards, we have to be exposed to what has been deemed acceptable by people that don’t know any better. We are setting a trend for future generations, and most of the people molding that future have one curled hand rested on their chest.

Is MTV even trying anymore? Years of not playing any music, let alone any tolerable music; years of scripting reality shows; years of barely making any indication of an effort to please their mush-minded minions has turned the network into the fat, lazy, dazed and sterile shit machine that undermines creative evolution today. Movie award ceremonies were held earlier in the month. Usually the “shocking” moments are pretty easily recognized as being planted, but the phoniness was just out loud and blatant this time around.

The piece of writing that lead into the Sandra Bullock/ Scarlett Johansson kiss was, from the viewpoint of a writer and a viewer, sloppy. Lay-z. Painful to watch, even. It took anyone working with slightly more than retard brains out of the moment the show was “trying” to create. Not that, had it been executed more tightly, I would of believed that A-list actresses like to spontaneously lesbo out on one another whenever the urge so happens to arise- but what transpired couldn’t have come off as seeming more unnatural. I’m not griping as some panting perv, feverishly wiping his clammy palms on his sweat panted knees, instructing the girlies in the TV to “make Daddy believe it.” I’m not that guy. I’m griping because I despise manufactured, non-shocking snippets like this that are sold as being the opposite. It leaves the lingering taste of Splenda in my mouth. Much like Sandra left Scarlett with the lingering taste of third-hand Nazi stripper twat in her mouth.

After decades of a steady nose-dive decline, MTV wants to be part of whatever the kids are calling the counter culture these days, even though they consciously offer a lame product to people with dictated tastes. There’s nothing revolutionary about that.

Another troubling aspect of the kiss was the fact that Betty White had just fumbled through some outrageous observations that certainly weren’t age appropriate. That gag will never tire. SNL didn’t drive the final nails in that coffin. Yes, that was factiousness. I have nothing personal against that sweet, decrepit ol’ biddy. I’m not saying she should join her cast-mates for The Afterlife Presents: Golden Girls on Broadway. I just hate how the industry uses her. I don’t blame Betty for playing along with a bad, yet profitable, formula. If Hollywood offered my grandma Betty White money to regurgitate dick jokes from over-sized cue cards; well, let’s just say I’d have some digging to do.

MTV enjoyers are ignorant, desensitized and they have an immature pallet. In some severe cases, they’re partially lobotomized. I’ll accept that explanation. That checks out. What I fail to understand is: who’s in the market for hauntingly morbid Gary Coleman photographs? Poor guy, left this world prematurely as a frustrated security guard in need of an insecurity guard. I can’t see how someone can justify having an interest in what Globe magazine is offering. Seeing him on the cover like that was even more disturbing than seeing him on magazine covers when he was alive. Luckily, Larry David on the TV Guide cover was standing by as a suitable shield. If the media had a soul, it’s brutal ugliness would be reflected in the pain and misery shown on the front of that waste of a tree of a magazine. Also seen in the photo was the woman that, at the very least, killed Coleman’s spirit. I hope he knew better than to include her in his what you talkin’ ’bout WILLis. Expect a reality show from her in the fall. It’s the (new) American way.

I wish all that was bad and wrong, like the above mentioned, ceased to be and that we could start over with a purely quality template. I know asking for integrity in journalism is naïve of me. Especially considering programming like TMZ is flourishing like the venereal rash that it is. It has become painstakingly clear: as long as the majority rules, the minority shall suffer. I think Gandhi said that. It was either Mahatma Gandhi or Todd Bridges.

I once read that comedians should always have a pen and notebook with them so they can be prepared when lightning strikes and that million dollar idea pops into their head. I think it was Judy Carter’s, “The Comedy Bible.” It was the only thing I got out of that book, but I did heed that wisdom and for the past four years I have had a notebook on me. I’m on my fifth one. Most of the ideas never make it to the mic. Most of the jokes that make it to the mic never make it to the set. That is the process of prospecting for gold. Lately I’ve been going through a bit of writer’s block. I’ve had this current notebook for three months now and I’m only 20 pages in. I need to do something to break down that wall so I figure I can kill two birds by purging the jokes from my notebook here in this column. If you don’t like them, I don’t blame you. Just be happy you’ll never have to hear them on stage. So here it goes.

People who believe in astrology use the argument that the stars’ and planets’ gravitational pull on our bodies affect us like they do the ocean. Then I guess I don’t have a receding hairline. My head is just at low tide.

(For when I’m drinking on stage) I’m too drunk to be doing comedy right now. I should be more responsible. What I should do is walk off this stage, out this building and drive my ass home.

People in LA love TV and film credits. It doesn’t even matter what the credit is for. “Wait a minute, you’re Bernie DeWitt, right? Rigging Gaffer? I loved your work on the movie, “Ricochet.”

Rape has got to be harder than it looks in the movies. They always make it look like all it would take is a couple punches and they’re ready to rape. I’m no expert but I bet real rapists carry lube.

Morgan Freeman has a shitty last name. Not necessarily for him but for his slave ancestors. Talk about kicking somebody when they’re down. “Hey, Free-man! Pick that cotton!”

Can that Taylor kid from the Twilight movies be anymore gay? Oprah asked him what he looks for in a girl. He should have said, “cock.”

I’ve noticed that all transvestites either look like a super slutty sex pot or Bea Arthur. What ever happened to the tranny next door?

All religious texts were written by man. The Bible, The Torah, The Quran. All men. I’m just surprised they don’t have verses describing how big God’s dick is. “And He hath a phallus that stands four timbers tall. And it is good.”

This notion that women are more mature than men is bullshit. My wife regresses to a five-year old every time we talk. “Are we compatible?” “How are we compatible?” “Why are we compatible” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Fuck, dude, I don’t know!

People use the argument that you should get married so you won’t end up alone in a nursing home. That’s a stupid argument. First of all, people don’t “end up” in a nursing home. They’re “put in” a nursing home. Who do you think is doing the “putting?”

Maybe God created the universe but I’m pretty sure he’s not watching it like religious people would have you believe. Imagine how bored he would be by now? “I wonder what’s going on over on Jupiter? Oh, right, the same exact fucking thing that’s been going on for hundreds of billions of years…nothing…I hate this job.”

The world is a fucked up place but if somebody were actually watching all of us, don’t you think it would be even more fucked up? I gotta think that being God would be a lot like playing the Sims. You can’t play that game for more than an hour before you start fucking with the people in that world. “I’m going to have this man run that baby over then make him eat his own shit.”

There’s nothing worse than having to sit at home, next to your wife, as she roots for comics on Last Comic Standing. “Oooh, he’s good. I like him. One day, that guy is gonna be a star!” I don’t do that to her. I don’t sit there as we watch Kim Kardashian and say, “Oooh, she’s good. I like her. One day she is gonna be my wife!”

Women are better than men in arguments because they can always remember everything the man ever did wrong in the past. We can’t compete with that. I’ve stopped trying to compete with that. So now whenever she brings up things from the past, I counter it by bringing up things from the future. “What about the time you cheated on me with that rich guy?!!” “I never cheated on you with a rich guy!” “But you will….you will.”

Okay, I feel better now. The notebook has been purged. Much like a person with bulimia, I’m ready to binge on the funny again. Go Lakers!!

Fair enough. I won’t talk about it. I’ll write about it. It was recently brought to my attention that my stand up act is too focused on material and, subsequently, neglectful toward the crowd. “People want to be pulled in, Man. They want to be a part of the show.” Why, thank you for the input, random tooth-deprived chemical enthusiast at this shit bar that happens to have an amp and a mic. While I can appreciate the fact that people like to be involved in the show they’re watching, I refuse to believe that crowd work should triumph material on a comic’s priority list.

Not every comic that thrives off of the crowd can be a Don Rickles. A lot of comedians, especially on the open mic circuit, will sometimes pester the room with “where ya from?” or “ I wanna fuck you because you’re a girl” or “you look like someone who’s not you.” It’s a sign of either being unprepared or having a lack of confidence in the material that they have. I think riffing off of bystanders can enhance a set, but there are only a small few that can or should build their entire shtick around that.

Besides, I give the average comedy fan more credit than that. Granted, we are living in a self-obsessed society… let me rephrase that: I realize that I’m living in a self- obsessed society, but I’ve always considered stand up fans to be smarter, more socially conscience, more broadly minded than the average citizen. After all, there is a vast disparity in intellectual maturity between those that can take a fucking joke and those that cannot.

Not to speak ill of my contemporaries, but I have sat through countless sets that have totally lacked entertaining substance. For a comedy purist, there’s nothing more frustrating than watching someone that doesn’t have any material. It’s a waste of stage time and it fucks off the vibe in the room for the talented and prepared performers that have to follow that shit. If the guy (or girl, or tranny with a cell phone at The Comedy Store) that came to do their act, but didn’t bring an act, were to make up for their dip-shittery by owning the room with clever, off-the-cuff observations about the people in attendance and about the night in general –that would be peachy. It’s just seldom for things to go down that way. Odds are, if you fail to write five minutes of funny fodder then you’re probably going to struggle with turning small talk into laughs off the top of the head.

I’ve seen comics nonchalantly piss away the meat of their set with “what do I want to talk about tonight?” or “what do you guys want to talk about?” Aren’t we exalted on a stage, voice amplified, because we have something to say? Isn’t that the whole point? Some of the best in the business –Oswalt, CK, Attell, Cross –hardly ever stray from their material to pay special attention to one in a countless sea of attentive fans. If they so happen to, it’s usually because they’re provoked, by an attention whore, to do so. The only place for an attention whore at a comedy show is on the stage.

Not to say that sticking to a script is a must, some of the best moments and biggest laughs in comedy are ad-libbed, I just urge whoever gets on the comedy platform do so with a point of view or a few punch lines. Something. Make the effort because the payoff is outstanding. When you create something that you’re proud of, then you share it with a room full of strangers and everything clicks and they dig it and they laugh their assholes off –it induces quite the cathartic feeling and triggers an endorphin release that all of the sex and drugs in Hollywood would fail to rival. That’s why successfully selling material and killing it provides an adrenaline rush that lasts well into the next day. It’s enough to give me a raging heart boner.

That’s why I’ll never mind being considered a “material comic” versus being considered a “crowd comic.” Anyone that can effortlessly work a crowd and have a stellar set without using a single prepared bit has my full-blown respect. That’s an important attribute to be equipped with. At the same time, writing is as vital to stand up comedy as a distorted level of self-esteem (be it too low or too high). Hardcore writing, at that. In the inspiring style of such Men of the pen as Bob Dylan and Hunter S. Thompson. I’m talking about staying up all night with the notebook, exploring ideas, going off on tangents, making connections, getting every last drop of your creative juices on paper so you’re ready for the stage and you’re not referencing scribbles on an El Pollo Loco receipt. I’m not saying I posses such ability, but I stride for that. It’s all a part of the journey.

As rightfully beloved and unquestionably hilarious as a crowd guy like Rickles is, I don’t think his zinger-rich act can hold a candle to the material presented to us by the powerful minds of guys like George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Dave Chapelle and so on.

As far as my act is concerned, I’ve performed less than 70 times and I have approximately 500 jokes/ bits that I consider stage worthy. I’m not a seasoned performer, my delivery needs more polishing than a pair of hobo’s boots, and my shit will always have room for improvement –but I’m ready. Not ready for the big leagues, not ready for an HBO special. I’m ready to make an effort on stage. Ready to present my perception of this enigmatic cunt we call comedy. As long as I consider myself a comedian, I will live and die by my material and, more often than not, I will throw down my punch lines through the entirety of the set without even referencing anyone in the room. Does that make me a prick? No. It makes me a storyteller. or at least, for now, a joke teller.

That’s just me, though. How you doin’?