Do you ever reflect back on your life? By reflect, what I mean is, do you ever think back to all the stupid things you’ve done over the course of your lifetime? I know that I don’t. Until recently, when I looked back on my life, I would choose to only think about the good times, ignoring the bad or, at the most, write the bad times off as unfortunate, unlucky or unfair. I’m no expert by any means. I have no data to back up my hypothesis. I have only a gut feeling. But it is with that gut feeling that I can say that if more people really looked back on their lives, really examined it, they would realize as I have, that everybody on this planet, all human beings, are really fucking stupid.

Say it with me, “I am a god damned idiot.”

There you go.

Let me explain how I got to this notion. I was at The Rainbow Room here in Hollywood. For those not local, it is not a gay bar. It is a rock and roll club where any given night, you can run into various rock stars from Slash to B Real. Needless to say, there are a lot of tattoos in this bar. I started to write a bit about tattoos and how they are worthless, have no real meaning and only serve to help those who get them jump on yet another bandwagon. Just like Justin Bieber fans. The contempt was flowing through me as it does anytime I start to get into a writing zone. Blasting the lemmings. Mocking the sheeple. It was then I started to recall a tattoo that I had considered getting when I was 18, a St. Ides label. That’s right, when I was 18 and first started drinking alcohol, I thought it would be cool to get the crooked “I” from the label of a 40 oz. malt liquor forever engraved in my flesh.

Hey, it could have been worse.

What can I say? It seemed cool at the time. Stupid ideas always do. Generally speaking, we really don’t do the things we identify as stupid as they arise. Even the rare times we do, we just call it stupid to satisfy the judgment of others, all the while judging them for their own stupidity and lack of vision, courage, etc. It is only with the passage of time we can look back at these events and see them for what they are; fucking stupid.

Then I started thinking of other stupid things I’ve done. The time my friend and I thought it would be a good idea to drop an M-80 in a glass jar of jelly and see what happens standing 10 feet away. The time I knowingly dated a coke head because she “seemed like a free spirit.” The time I took a writing gig for a comedy website without pay. All seemed like good ideas at the time. All fucking stupid. And that’s when it dawned on me. If the stupid things we do can only be identified in retrospect and our lives are full of stupid things we’ve done, then what’s not to say that we’re not completely stupid right now. This moment. This point in our lives. We are all god damned idiots.

You said it, Keanu.

I am of the opinion that we all live in a constant state of stupidity and that we are unable to see the bubble of idiocy we live in because we’re too stupid to perceive it. Why do you think most old people think everybody is stupid? Because everybody is and they can see it. The wisdom that comes with age is simply manifested through a lifetime of fuck-ups and bad decisions. The cruel truth to this truth is that by the time most of us realize it, we die. Thanks for playing. Have a nice day.

“Oh, shit.”

“But what about all the intelligent things man has done over the years?” I say to myself in my best Eric Somers inner dialog voice. What about it? How do we know how intelligent they were? Computers, airplanes, cars, the Large Hadron Collider; are they really so smart? Or are we just very adept at making complicated ways to kill ourselves? Once again, history has taught us nothing if not that the “great minds” of contemporary times have been mostly wrong and usually harmful and almost always fucking stupid. From Avandia to Zeppelins, mankind has had countless good ideas turn into a warm blanket of dumb with the passage of time. And we always say, “How could we have been so stupid?” Guess what? We weren’t stupid. We are stupid.

A really smart kinda stupid

Depending on which group of dummies you are to believe, humans as we know ourselves, have been on this planet from 6000 to 75,000 years. Either way, it’s a long time. How do we know if, in the cosmic classroom of “intelligent beings,” we’re not the slow kids? The slack jaws sitting in the back, eating our paste and shitting our pants, delusionally thinking that everybody thinks we’re cool? Wouldn’t that be great? To be visited by an alien race and they tell us, “Uh, yeah, we’ve been observing your progress now for the past thousand years and we feel it is in your best interests if we hold you back for another thousand and give you some time to mature intellectually. However, you will be happy to know that your fellow classmates, the whales, are being moved to Advanced Placement!” I love the idea of flunking as a species.

“Hey humans, shove those fish up your ass! We’re out this bitch!”

Hey, it’s not our fault, right? We’re just stupid. I mean that. It can’t be our fault. The only thing we can do is recognize our deficiencies and come to terms with them the way mentally retarded people do. Mentally retarded people know they won’t conquer the world and don’t care to. They just want to be and I have always found them to be much happier as a result – as long as nobody tries to steal their bike. Embrace your stupidity, my fellow morons. Together we will enjoy the little things in life like eating, laughing and fucking and we will be the enlightened ones, drifting through this life one fuck-up at a time and not a care in the world.

Or maybe you disagree with me. What do I know, after all? I’m just a fucking idiot like everybody else.

Why don’t bad things happen to good people more often? Rather, why doesn’t the appropriate thing happen to the deserving person more often? Life needs to teach us lessons, no matter how severe, in order for us as a species to evolve.

There was an incident in Connecticut last year (and I’m really on top of it) that bugs me every time it pops into my head. It was a gratuitously violent episode born from human arrogance and ignorance. An attack by an animal, something that may otherwise be considered a predictable part of nature, was triggered by a person doing what people do best- acting like an asshole. No offense to any homo-sapiens that might be reading this, but the poor animal in this story (a trained ape that had a higher I.Q. than two out of the three guys in Green Day) never stood a chance. His primal instincts were no match for her modern retardation. She deserved a healthy dose of ape-shit craziness. Only thing is, it didn’t happen to her and the ape was killed by the pigs (that’s street for police, whitey) in the woods moments after the fifteen minute attack relented.

I’m getting ahead of myself here. In case you missed it in the news or on Nat Geo (that’s street for National Geographic), here’s the skinny. A lonely old lady wanted to bypass the two-dozen cat route that her fellow widows had taken by getting a chimp. The two of them were inseparable for years. One day, surprise, he snaps and starts acting like an… animal. He maliciously shredded apart his owner’s friend. Not a few scratches and bites. He fucking ate her face and shat out her features. Next thing you know, the cops are chasing him through the woods with their firearms drawn, like he was Harrison Ford in The Fugitive. Obviously, the victim didn’t deserve such a bloody fate. The only thing she did wrong was befriending a buffoon.

You see, the owner was just as responsible for the attack transpiring as the chimp was, if not more so. She tried to humanize the critter in a way that wouldn’t be fit for an actual human. Armed with only the power of perception and utter disregard for decency, the dumb bitch decided to pump her dangerous pet full of mind/mood altering drugs. Xanax, to be precise. Apparently, she noticed that her special little guy was exhibiting the symptoms of anxiety. An anxious chimpanzee, ya don’t say. Isn’t this the same animal that breaks from turrets screeches only to fling hand full’s of feces at anything that is not yet covered in feces? The same animal that displays dominance over a fellow adolescent male by ripping his foe’s ape junk off with his bare hands…talk about cock blocking. The very same creature is showing signs of anxiety? God bless you for noticing. Your faceless friend would thank you too, but post-accident, she can’t open what used to be her mouth without important stuff falling out. The chimp, let’s call him Travis, because that’s his name, drank wine for years with no ill effects. As soon as he started popping pills, it was the beginning of the end. Just like most teenage school shooters, he had a head full of anti-feeling drugs and he snapped violently on the innocent. Side effects may include face consumption.

It’s atypical of mankind to try to meddle with nature. Attempt to fix or improve it with the man made poisons that we desensitize ourselves with. It amazes me that so many parents fail to see how detrimental that shit is for their children, but to give fist full’s of psych meds to a potentially dangerous animal; I don’t see how that’s even legal. Granted, a lot of the testing is done on animals and the rest of the test subjects are poor people. The F.D.A. views them as one in the same. I guess what I find most frustrating about this incident is that it speaks volumes about how warped peoples sensibilities have become.

We’re a nation of dope hating drug addicts. People actually believe the pills that turns their kids into slobbering drones is medication. The worst thing in the World would be for little Tyler to smoke a joint at a party with his friends, even though Mommy has been redirecting his brain signals since he was nine and he would become restless on long trips. Lazy parenting has a lot to do with how deep the pockets of the drug companies in this Country have become. It’s unsettling to walk into a Doctor’s office and see Pfizer stickers plastered all over the donated equipment and supplies. Drugs that fuck us up more than our alleged ailment ever could are crammed down our throats and some of us can’t get enough. The commercials are frightening. Are people really willing to die in order to sleep better or pee less often?

When will America awake from its chemical induced slumber? If a teenager whacking his teachers and fellows students doesn’t wave a red flag, what will? Perhaps eyes would open up a little wider if one of these drugged little shits stayed home from school and ate Mommy’s face for fifteen minutes before ripping Daddy’s scrotum (Junior’s former home) off with his bare hands.

Stop popping pills, America. You’re better than that. I’ll wrap it up now, the Vicodin is starting to wear off.

People never cease to surprise. Every once in a while, here and there, somebody will open their mouth in my direction and proceed to spill out a gem of pure retardedry. After the initial dumbfounded reaction passes, I may grow inspired. Next thing you know, thanks to an absurd statement made by an otherwise harmless fella with a little water on the brain, I have a column on my hands. Finally, societal stupidity works for me, rather than against.

It should be noted, the offender in question is a friend, outside of comedy, and he has an exceptional I.Q. He’s accountable. No excuses. Anyway, I’m running some material by him- nothing too obscure, easily accessible stuff. His critique was inexcusable. He said the writing was great and all but if I want to sell it to the general public I should dumb it down. Mind you, he’s an outsider to comedy, not a Last Comic Standing judge. His demeanor was sincere. He was serious. I had given him too much credit as a human being.

For years, he would relentlessly mock, antagonize and bitch about every stupid person he came into contact with. Now he’s suggesting that I, not unlike Pam Anderson, spread the disease. No dice, dick face. You can’t complain about frustrating idiocy in everyday life then encourage someone else to plant seeds of ignorance and water the existing crop. Get yourself another patsy. I have too much…(not money, what’s the other thing)…integrity. I was sort of irked by his belligerence, but it got me thinking. I wonder what the future will be like if the number of comics that were in it for the right reasons- like being uncompromisingly funny while sticking to their true style- what if these righteous misfits became outnumbered by the type of comic that would take such tainted advice? Let’s just call it what it is, badvice.

As I am well aware, dumb people are inescapable. They’re at work, school, shows, practically everywhere. The only place you won’t find them are places that are tricky to track on the map. If they can get to your town via a straight line, they’re a comin’. However, the optimist in me needs to believe that a slight majority of society is, at the very least, semi-intelligent and equipped with common sense. My faith in that sentiment sometimes becomes shaken.

I’m not gloating, here. Believe me, I’ve had my moments. I think it might of have had something to do with falling out of a moving vehicle when I was two, or maybe it has something to do with the same thing happening when I was five. I’m not pointing any fingers here, Mom. It was the Eighties, before all that car seat hysteria dictated policy. Point is, I’m somewhat intelligent but I do some really stupid shit. Like the time I accidentally sprayed myself in the face with black spray paint or the time I (not)accidentally sprayed myself with the pepper spray that happened to be dangling from my Mom’s keychain, hanging from the unattended ignition. Perhaps it was insensitive of me to refer to the weapon as anti-rape spray. I deserved to burn. Burn I did. Then I ran into a room where my Dad was with about a dozen of his buddies; blithering and panicking like someone that had just tripped off of the mini-bus, crying about my self-inflicted eye melting. The pride he must of felt. I’ve had plenty of Ralph Wiggum moments. I consider myself smart and stupid. Which is why I can be un-biased when I say that smart is better. It’s the kind of World I want to live in.

The alternative scares the herpes out of me. Don’t judge, just imagine the hijinx we’ll be in for once Fox News and Wal-Mart and MTV and American Idol and America’s Got Talons officially take over. The smart people will have to band together in barricaded safe-houses, listening to Radiohead and playing Scrabble until it’s safe to go outside again. It will be a much simpler time. Pesky shoe tying will be a thing of the past! No more stick shifts!! One utensil for EVERYTHING!!! “This many” will become an official unit of currency measure. The streets will be littered with the aloof, as they walk their leashed children to McDonald’s for a sausage sammich. While we’re at it, no more Jeopardy. Think you’re better than me, huh? Bye-bye, Trebek. You’ve shared your final Final Jeopardy clue.

It’s a reality that can very well be right around the corner. While I’m sure that me and most of the comics I enjoy and respect will not succumb with compromise, I can’t say the same for other comics I know personally or some of the mainstream acts that hack it up in return for a handsome living. For the sake of example, I’ll give names but I must alter their identity. Sob Baget and Ben Bailey (I flipped Bailey’s initials, too, in case you were wondering). Saget has a decent brain. It gets plenty of rest, 90% of the time Bob’s on camera. His contribution to America’s Funniest Home Videos caused me intense, crippling depression when I was but a boy. How rude (? like little Michelle used to say in that other show Saget shat on). Playing the game, subscribing to the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”” mentality has made Robert substantially wealthy. Nauseously wealthy. Excuse me…(dry heaves of bitter jealousy ensue for many exaggerated minutes)- he has cashed in considerably, but at what price? You part from your precious money at death, greatness lasts forever. Nostradamus is still a pretty great guy, even if he can’t spell Hitler.

Speaking of Hitler, Cash Cab’s Ben Bailey makes no effort to hide the fact that he isn’t the lisping, autistic sounding dingus that he personifies in his stand-up act. More people know him from the Discovery Channel, so they know he’s sharp. Then he goes on stage and his split personality, which happens to have an unhardened soft spot, takes hold. I think he’s playing both sides for all he can get. Put on a good show to get the nerds at Discovery in his favor during the day, dumb it down at dusk for lazy crowds, go home, yell at the dog as a venting mechanism, cry in the shower, go to sleep, get up the next day and repeat. That’s how Ben Bailey must roll.

Other than this spiel, my friends comment had little effect on me. If anything, it had an adverse effect. I’m going to ignore the temptation to have an automatic success of a set by feeding dimmer crowds my easier material. I’m going to joke about the Gold Standard and Corporate Welfare in Crenshaw. Not to imply that the Shaw is slow. Please don’t shoot me.

As far as my material writing is concerned, I’m never going to be afraid to articulate my point of view or to make a joke a little longer in order to make it better. Fuck whoever’s impotent attention span I’m failing to placate. Fuck it with a spoon, whatever that means. It’s sad that “alternative” usually serves as code for “smart”. Why should smart have to settle for being the alternative? Obviously, that contradicts our Nation’s intentions, seeing how we have an educational system and all.

There are signs of hope. Rock group The Scorpions are releasing a “Goodbye” album, with a promised band-wide suicide to follow. Thanks, guys. I think what I get from the 30% of the smartly funny comics and regular folk I encounter conquers the other 70%, comprised mainly of Jackassholes. Which is comforting. If you experience similar frustrations, then build a wall of interesting people around you and pretend that the rest of the planet is okay. There’s only so much you can do to help the comfortably numb. In the immortal words of Franky the mute, “let the clowns hang themselves with silly string”.

I would just like to take a moment to send a special message to those audience members who attended the comedy show at the Hollywood Hotel Lounge Friday night.

F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.

May all of you get exactly what you want and deserve; a boring, unexamined, unoriginal, sterile, insignificant, fruitless, banal existence. And cancer. May you all get cancer. The type of cancer doesn’t matter so long as it makes you lie in your death bed, eating at your organs at a slow enough pace to get you to realize that you wasted your life fearing your death, and that you should have laughed more.

No, let me clarify. You should have laughed more at yourselves. At your insecurities and your prejudices and your fears and your shitty jobs and your designer clothes and how ridiculous this all is. This existence.

There, that feels better. I’m glad I could get that off my chest. I tried to say as much as the show was ending but what can I say? I’m better at writing than I am at improv. All I got to was the “fuck you” part.

They say that a comic should never blame the audience. By “they,” I’m referring to those who suck at comedy and try to stay relevant in the industry by dispensing shitty advice for a nominal fee. Fuck them too. Nobody knows anything in this business and if you want to know my opinion on that, see the first piece I wrote for this site. You can find it here.

Sometimes you get in front of a crowd that is a perfect microcosm of a facet of humanity that stokes the embers of cynicism and hatred that led to comedy in the first place.
Friday night was that crowd.

It’s not like I’ve never eaten my own ass on stage before. In fact, it’s happening more and more. A sign I’m growing, I’d like to think. Some nights I’ll get on stage with one too many cocktails and only a half formed premise and I don’t get surprised or angered when it fizzles off into the ether to be met with silence. I’m no twenty year vet in comedy but I have been in this game long enough to know when I’m on, and when a bit is good. Even then, if it bombs, I don’t get too bothered by it, save for the slight disappointment and embarrassment. Sometimes, people just don’t feel comfortable laughing out loud. But when the crowd suddenly is LOLing at hacky tricks and predictable punchlines, the hate begins to well up and the cancer fantasies begin.

Friday night was one of those nights.

You might say that I sound bitter and pathetic and you would be right. I am bitter and pathetic. Like the late, not-so-great, George Steinbrenner said, “Show me a good loser and I’ll show you a loser.” Still, I can’t help but be honest. Comedy is the only place left in the world for honesty these days, no matter what that Friday night crowd might think.

So it is with honesty that I shared with you my opinions of stick-up-the-ass comedy show audience members. And it is with honesty that I share with you the real reason for writing this piece. One to vent. And two, to say this. A lot of comics, when they don’t get laughs, will blame the audience. I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to blame them as an audience. I’m going to blame them as individuals. It is, individually, their own fault for not laughing at my bits on how gay marriage could be legalized if they simply made a Morgan Freeman movie about it. Or how we shouldn’t be putting Dick Clark on television after his stroke. Or how people who believe in the 2012 apocalypse shouldn’t rely on the Mayans as a credible source. Of course, it was all puched up and hilarious but you’ll have to come out to a show if you want to hear the bits. And if you do and don’t find it funny, then I will be honest and say that I won’t blame you for not laughing. I’ll blame you for the Holocaust. I’ll blame you individually for the Holocaust. Cause, really, if I’m going to hate you, I don’t want it to be for something petty like silence.

I’m embarrassed to post things on the Internet. I’ll admit it. Each time I send something in, or make a Facebook update, or log into Twitter, it doesn’t matter how, I always feel a little self-conscious about it. I don’t like feeling obligated to tell everyone what’s going on all the time. I know that’s a little odd for a comic to admit, being that I’m supposed to readily tell you everything that’s in my head, but for me, that’s on stage. I also know that I hardly ever update my column, something that’s an outlet that some very good friends gave me as both a favor and a responsibility, one that I should want to fulfill. It’s easy to say that I’m embarrassed to tell you guys about myself. I could just as easily say that I’m lazy, which is also true. I’ve been playing quite a few shows lately and really haven’t had much time to myself, but really, how long does one of these posts take? You know damn well this is the only draft I wrote and just immediately sent this in with the arrogant fervor of a know it all prick. Maybe that’s it: I really just think I’m too good for this shit, and I compensate for that with an inferiority complex. Yes, I’m embarrassed to put myself out there. I compensate for that with standup. I compensate for everything with standup. It gives me purpose. I really just want to be a good comic, and then let that dictate my place in wherever I am in the universe. Hopefully, nobody there asks me to do my act for them in public when I’m not on stage. I fucking hate that shit. I really do. Why do I have to do it? Am I not good enough to do it, or should the person asking me to stop what I’m doing to perform for them on the spot have the respect to see me in the proper environment? Granted, if you’re a hot woman, I’m probably already using my material in the conversation that we’re having. But for the rest of you, really, and though I can’t speak for other people, I would rather you see me on stage. I think that’s only fair. Anyway, I hope you guys have a great 4th of July. Thanks a lot for reading, and I’ll see you on the circuit.