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.