I’ve realized that a lot of my articles have to do with problems I have in standup as a new comedian. Open mics, bringer shows, last comic standing, cliché jokes, parents threatening to cut me off, you know, all that shit. But what about the accomplishments? What about the good times? What can I learn from those? Recently, I had a really great set and even earned some cash. Nothing big, barely covered parking, but it was nice. On the way to the show, a girl I’d been seeing broke up with me over text message and I not only managed not to let it bother me, but I also turned it into my first joke. The whole thing felt like a quelling of the usual voices in my head that question my every action. But later on, the questions came.

Was it just because the room was warm? Was it because I went up over an hour into the show? Did the last guy do so well, that as long as I didn’t forget anything, I was okay? Did it even matter? I don’t know if you can relate to this, but I am a very harsh critic and very capable of destroying myself at any moment. The slightest bit of doubt can put me in an introverted state where I just walk circles in my head. So as soon as I started evaluating the night, I forgot about good: the income, the laughs, the comfort. Instead, I decided that anyone with any joke could have killed in that setting. Maybe that’s true, but it’s also that self-doubt that makes me not want to go to open mics to try out new things. It’s what makes me wonder if I’m even doing the right thing, AND THIS FROM A GOOD NIGHT!

Another cliché I’m running into in my writing is the ending always being the same: keep working, keep writing, and keep showing up. It’s as though each thesis is “What the fuck am I doing?” and each conclusion is, “Quit my bitching; go back to work.” But maybe that’s a good thing. I need to defy those internal self-defeating voices if I ever want to have another killer paid set. Also, I should probably just quit my bitching. See you on the circuit!

Are you like me? Do you like movies? During a movie do you sit there and think about how you would handle the conflict you see before you on the screen? Do you try to apply the message of the tale to your daily life? For example, when you first saw, “The Blind Side,” were you like me and thought to yourself, “I gotta get me a big black kid.”

Cha-motherfuckin-Ching!!

No? Liars. That’s okay, I’m not writing this to tell you how to plan for your retirement. I am writing this to talk about the seven deadly sins and how it relates to comedy. Why? Because I love the movie “Seven,” that’s why. And I just watched it recently and realized how much ass it kicked. It had all the makings of a great movie; the gritty realism, the Morgan Freeman voice over… Gwyneth Paltrow’s head in a box. So here it goes. The seven deadly sins in comedy but without all the divinity. All inspired by my favorite buddy cop movie.

Gluttony:

Remember the fat guy? Forced to eat spaghetti until his stomach ruptured? He was the first victim in the movie and gluttony seems like a good place to start here as well. Gluttony in comedy, however, has nothing to do with a person’s weight. Fat is funny. No doubt about it. A funny joke spoken by a thin person becomes a brilliant joke when spoken by a fat guy. I don’t know why. It’s just one of those laws of nature, like retard strength. No, the gluttonous comic is the person, who night after night, set after set, keeps doing the same material and night after night, set after set, keeps eating it on stage. The Glutton has seven minutes of material and it is set in stone and it never changes and it sucks terrible, bitter monkey balls. It is truly disgusting to watch. Is it laziness? Is it a disorder? Who fucking cares. What it is is not funny and the Glutton should pay for his sin. As John Doe, to turn the sin against the sinner, I would punish the Glutton by forcing him to do a six month nightly show as the headliner at a maximum security prison. I know, I’m sick.

They told him not to do the Lorena Bobbitt joke again.

Pride:

In “Seven,” the pride victim was a model who got the old Fallujah Face Lift from John Doe and was so disturbed with the way she looked that she opted for suicide rather than live the rest of her life with a disfigured face. I guess she hadn’t considered a career in comedy. If she had, her sinful pride could have probably won her a few comedy contests. We all know comedians with handicaps, right? We also all know comedians who talk about their handicaps, right? And we also all know comedians who ONLY talk about their handicaps, right? Doesn’t it make you want to give them another handicap just so they would talk about something new? It doesn’t have to be a disability either. It can be a race (Dat Phan) or sexuality (Mario Cantone) or socioeconomic status (Jeff Foxworthy). The prideful comic latches on to the one subject matter that can get them laughs and clings to it like Brett Michaels clings to bandannas. These comics are so ugly on the inside that they can only talk about what we see on the outside. The prideful comic thinks style is synonymous with subject matter. Yes, gay comic, we know you love the cock but do you have any thoughts on, oh I don’t know, anything non-cock? Let’s hear them. Hey mixed race comic, why don’t you make like your parents and try something different? As John Doe, to turn the sin against the sinner, I would punish the prideful comic by forcing him to do a six-month nightly show as the headliner in the burn unit at a hospital.

If I was a burn victim my mother would be like, “Dat Phan, why you so melty?”

Lust:

Lust in comedy has nothing to do with sex. Sure I hear comics complain about other comics who got a career boost by giving a “tight five” on the casting couch. And in the movie, the lust victim was a hooker. However, in comedy, sex of any kind is worth its weight in jokes, usually about 185+ lbs worth of jokes. Be that as it may, it can never be sin. No, in comedy, lust is stage lust. It is a lust for the limelight and not the spotlight. They care more about being “known” than they do about being funny. These are the comics who arrive late, get on early, fuck up the list, ask everybody to watch their set, then leave five minutes later. These are the comics who whine and complain and lie to the hosts to get their way like it is owed to them. Then when they do get their way, they show all the gratitude of Kanye West. These comics put more effort into manipulating, backstabbing and lying than they do writing, performing and putting in dues. The lusting comic is common in Los Angeles and unfortunately is often rewarded for his sin. Fucking slut. As John Doe, to turn the sin against the sinner, I would punish the lusting comic by giving him his own HBO one hour special…tonight.

Something funny should go here.

Sloth & Greed:

In the movie, the sloth & greed victims could not be more different, a lawyer and a junkie. In comedy, however, they are often the same person. Sloth & Greed shows up, not necessarily, in comics. It shows up in bookers. The slothful and greedy bookers are the ones who are too lazy to scout talent. Instead they’ll put up anybody who has five friends who are willing to pay the $10 cover and two-drink minimum. Even if that “anybody” has never set foot on stage. Rather than telling a newbie that he is not ready to be in a real show and that he should do more open mics, he says, “How many suckers, I mean people can you bring?” Rather than making fliers, they make Facebook invites. Rather than producing a quality show that will have repeat customers, they rely on a bait and switch technique to pray upon the naïve enthusiasm of green comedians’ friends. Rather than nurture, they corrupt. Like lust, sloth and greed run rampant in the Los Angeles comedy circuit. As John Doe, to turn the sin against the sinner, I would punish the slothful and greedy booker to booking a nightly open mic in Juarez, Mexico.

“Hey, I got 5 amigos, puto. Lemme get the mic, eh?.”

Envy:

This is an easy one. The comic whose sin is envy is a thief. Joke thief, bit thief, style thief, thief. This comic can’t think for himself so he steals others’ ideas. As John Doe, to turn the sin against the sinner, I would punish the comic who envies by making him spend a year opening for Carlos Mencia.

“This sucks! This guy’s got nothing! Dee De Dee!”

Wrath:

Wrath holds a special place in my heart. Probably because I am guilty of it. The wrathful comic lets all the other sins get to him. Wrath alienates audiences and polarizes comedy bookers. It clouds a comic’s judgment and cripples his creativity. Just look at this piece. It started off kind of funny and now it just needs to end. So that’s what is about to happen. So what is my punishment, you ask? Didn’t you see the movie? Brad Pitt’s character, Detective Mills became wrath. His was the only sin that went without punishment. He got to shoot John Doe in the head and then he got a police escort home. So that’s what I’m doing. Don’t like the ending? Fuck you. I’m wrath, bitch. Now cue the Morgan Freeman voiceover.