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April 20

Nashville, TN


April 22

Comedy Caravan
Louisville, KY


April 23

2720 Cherokee
St. Louis, MO


April 24

Improv Kansas City
Kansas City, MO


April 25

Fayetteville, AR


April 26

Little Rock, AR


April 27

Phoenix Underground
Shreveport, LA


April 29

Addison Improv
Dallas, TX


April 30

Addison Improv
Dallas, TX


May 1

Backstage Lubbock
Lubbock, TX


June 10

Irvine Improv
Irvine, CA


June 11

Ontario Improv
Ontario, CA


June 12

M15 Concerts Bar & Grill
Corona, CA


June 18

Sacramento, CA


June 25

Star Theatre
Portland, OR


August 21

Comedy Store
Los Angeles, CA



Well, that's over...



The Year in Review is Blurry.

It's amazing the things that will fail to stand out if you get used to them.

Becker and I were in Costa Rica two years back and went to visit a friend of his south of Tamarindo who'd opened a resort somewhere in the area of where the jungle meets the beach just like everywhere else. A dozen bungalows scattered about the property, a perfect pool next to the outdoor bar with the sun pouring under the Pacific just as we pulled in.

The owner was a Costa Rican - about our age or a little younger - who'd been living in London for several years prior working in finance. He opened the bar thinking he'd get all the UK suits to fill the place in the high season.

It was the highest point of the high season now and his occupancy was zero.

Paradise bust.

He sat alone at the bar with his cheeks in his hands staring at the television and said hello to Becker without moving his head. "Two and a Half Men" was on - an American feed in English. His eyes stayed fixed on it while he got up to get us beers and never wavered with the small talk. Business was bad, his birthday was coming up and was going to be a big party, on and on. But he never looked anything less than worn and depressed.

Then, as the conversation lulled, a good-sized dog came running over with its head smeared in what seemed to be dried blood. Becker asked about it.

"Jesus - is that blood on your dog's head?"

The owner - still transfixed by Charlie Sheen's goofball antics and without blinking - muttered that the dog had grabbed a monkey off of a low-lying branch and killed it.

He said it as though he was explaining a gravy stain on his shirt. And never missed a second of Two and a Half Men. The conversation kind of died after that and all three of us just stared at the screen.

I hadn't watched a network sit-com that I can remember in over 15 years and now we were treated to back-to-back episodes of the worst of it in a remote tropical Valhalla where giant iguanas, postcard sunsets and monkey-eating dogs go unnoticed.

It's amazing what you can become bored with.


Bingo sends her love.

She hasn't been drinking for the last few months and that is a good thing. As you can imagine, she feels like she's boring now. But she's actually more fun than she's been in a while.

She was getting to places where the stories were only funny from a distance. One night this fall when I was on the road she decided to march down in her marching band outfit to the high school football field at the end of a game in a half-blackout, grab the trombone from the kid in the band on the sideline and start playing it poorly with the expectation that the rest of the band and cheerleaders would follow her lead. The band teacher was kind enough to walk her home and the town has been kind enough to not bring it up again when we go out in public.


A lot of times I'll give out our address for you to send shit to Bingo because Bingo is child-like in her dumbstruck and authentic elation and receiving gifts - even if it's chewed gum on a baseball card. Just seeing her name makes her dance around saying "I have packages!" When our friend Father Luke first made her a website a few years back and showed her the homepage she screamed "OhMyGod I'm on TV!"

You might call her retarded. I do regularly. But she's the most adorable retard you'll ever see and I'll put her up against any adorable retard you might have for money. Any Place, Any Time.

If you have weird shit and too much time with a stamp and an envelope - please send shit to

Bingo (or Amy Bingaman if you wanna be all proper)
212 van Dyke St.
Bisbee, AZ 85603

I've done this several times before and always get a bunch of people asking why I'd give my address out and how many crazies have just shown up at my door because of it. My concern and my answer have been both "zero." We live way the fuck out of the way to anywhere. Nobody is going to show up here. The mailman hates coming here and he lives here.

But now it looks like the first crazy is coming. I ignored his first few emails around Christmas that he was going to drive down from Canada 3000 miles for a very necessary interview for some documentary he was making. Then he emailed saying he was about to leave, regardless of not hearing back from me.

Now he emailed saying he's only about 12 hours away.

I'll let you know how it goes.


Not to ruin your New Year but we die at the end of all this. So start having fun.

See you on the road.

I love you






Picture this, Dear Reader -

You are traveling through airport security for the holidays with your 5 year-old when all of a sudden you are told that your kid needs to go through the new TSA body-scanner which will subject him to allegedly "low doses" of radiation which will allow a complete stranger to view his or her naked body privately - or if you refuse will allow a complete stranger to do a full body pat-down including breasts and genitals?

Which do you choose?

What thought is more disturbing?

Some Job Corps airport chump watching the x-ray images, getting a weeping erection staring at the images of your naked youngster? The idea that over a course of time these screenings could make your child look like a bullfrog with his new neck cancer? Or simply settle for the out-right humiliation of watching him be molested right in front of you while the other TSA goons shove you in the chest and direct you where to stand?

I can't believe this shit is going on right in front of my eyes, every fucking week I'm on the road. I can't believe that people sit there and take it.

Personally, I don't care if someone sees me naked - I've forced the image on more than should have had to see it. Nor do I give a fuck about radiation. I smoke enough that folks in Chernobyl would ask me to take it outside.

I don't even mind subjugating some dunce in a uniform to get down on his knees and pat at my asshole and sweating bag while pretending to control my libido.

I care that so many people don't care that it doesn't matter if I care or not. But that shit is turning around, at least for the moment. Ever since TSA has started the full-naked body scans with your choice of full body/genital pat-down, the public seems to show that it still has a nerve that can be struck. Some empty-chested filth at the airport with rubber gloves grappling between your grandmother's tits and colostomy bag made the idea of the lottery-odds of an underpants bomber seem insufficient to justify.

The "Let's roll" guy on 9/11 - fictional or not - would have a hard time choosing between watching his crying child look helplessly at him during a rough groping from some low-rung government flunkie or to just man-up and go down with the plane.

There are a million organizations now calling for people to opt-out of the body scanner and force TSA to either do pat-downs or allow them to go thru regular metal detectors or to not fly at all.

Opting out is one way to go. First of all, the number of people who would decide to not fly would be minimal and actually beneficial for TSA because there would be less of an evident problem. The scanners themselves are adding so much useless time to flying that throwing lengthy security rub-n-tugs on top of that would cripple air travel and be far more effective.

But don't just opt out for the holidays. Opt out every time you have the option. Opt out with a smile and a leer and groan when they slide over your sensitive parts.

Your other option is to play the part of the willing maroon who is happy to go through the scanner but can't get it right. This form of protest could be far more effective since it can prove the machinery itself to be too difficult to be useful. The body scanner requires far more nonsense to get through than normal metal detectors. Every single piece of metal has to be removed from rings to belts to random coins in your pocket. The thing will detect mercury in your stool from last night's sushi.

So all you need to do is dress the part of the turtle-necked first-time-flier with a dullard's grin and happily get into the scanner with as much metal paraphernalia on your person as possible. They will scan you and then chastise you for still having metal. Apologize earnestly, go back, remove SOME of the metal and try again. Keep Aw-shucksing, apologizing and fucking it up so that in the meantime they will divert the rest of the people through the regular security.

If people start missing their flights because of a handful of idiots, pressure will come down like a hammer from airlines and passengers alike.

Either way, remember - and remember this clearly - that to quietly accept the current TSA rules without protest is exactly the same as saying "It's perfectly okay with me for the government to ogle or fondle my child's sexual organs as well as rape my grandmother."


Exactly the same.

Now get to the airport early with a bleeding erection in thin white pants and show them how much you mean it when you scream "Freedom!"









I signed a deal with RoadRunner Records to begin their foray into
comedy. If you've never heard of RoadRunner - that's probably because nobody really hears about record companies since their was the center label of a 45 rpm spinning in the center of your turntable in 1981. But evidently they have a lot of huge bands and their check cleared so at this point it all looks good. I should have a new DVD out before your diabetes takes your legs.


Brendon Walsh is on Conan on Thanksgiving. He might be the only guy that would get me to watch a late night talk show. If you haven't seen the pic where Walsh bought a Fathead of himself, climbed a billboard in LA and added himself to the cast of some Top Chef show - well, then Google it. Or maybe I can find a link.


I'll get some kind of X-mas merch special going shortly. I mean, it's kind of a no-brainer. I don't give a fuck about Christmas either but evidently other folk have friends that require purchases so here I'll be - pulling open my raincoat to show you my latest wares. Come back soon or just do the easy thing and get on the mailing list.


Bisbee folks - Thanks for everyone who came together for Bingo's
surprise party. She's still talking about it and you guys are fucking
great. See you over the holidays.


2011 dates are starting to roll in. Get tix immediately or go stand in the corner and ponder on what you've done wrong.

Here's to a little closer to dead.





Why I do It


If you wonder why I still do this shit for a living, I'll show you one of the latest emails I got that makes me know I'm attracting the right people.

Date: Thu, 18 Nov 2010 02:40:27 -0700
Subject: will see you at Scottsdale show
From: ***********@********

Hey Doug,

Since I find you entertaining I feel like writing in hopes of entertaining you. I'm coming out to see you in Scottsdale next month. Hubby and I live in NM and we'll be driving our RV. It looks funky so I've attached a picture.

I'm a sex worker and for your show last year in Denver I dressed up a sissy in lingerie to pay for the trip. This time around I pissed in an old man's mouth to fund the RV to come to AZ. It seems appropriate to come see your act.



I've been trying to use local openers on the road when I can so please feel free to direct my attention to decent up-n-comers in places I'm playing. I'm looking for the weird guy at the local shows that the comics run in to watch but the comedy clubs seem to ignore. I could just look at people's shit online but generally the guy that is really dark-odd-vulgar funny doesn't have shit online and has to take a bus to the gig. Obviously when I ask online about new funny people in whatever town I'm going, people are quick to cough up their own name - understandably - but tell me about the guy who stares at his feet at the open mics but has all the shit that makes the comics laugh. I don't have to have an opener but I love watching those guys and it doesn't matter to me if they kill or eat shit.

I've found Junior Stopka in Chicago via comedians word of mouth as well as Warren B Hall in Indy and Steve Poggi in STL. All were really funny with really fucked stories. Keep sending me names or links - but not your own. If you're that guy - someone will speak up for you.