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August 27

Cobb's Comedy Club
San Francisco, CA


August 28

Cobb's Comedy Club
San Francisco, CA


September 12

The Trocadero
Philadelphia, PA


September 13

State Theatre
Falls Church, VA
Cheapest tickets are at the Venue Box Office


September 18

San Jose Improv
San Jose, CA


September 19

The Mohawk
Austin, TX


September 27

Plaza Hotel & Casino
Las Vegas, NV


October 8

El Paso Comic Strip Comedy Club
El Paso, TX


October 9

Albuquerque, NM


October 10

GoldenLight Cantina
Amarillo, TX


October 13

Outland Ballroom
Springfield, MO


October 14

Deja Vu Comedy Club
Columbia, MO


October 15

Jukebox Comedy Club
Peoria, IL


October 16

Rock Island Brewing Company
Rock Island, IL


October 17

Reggie's Live
Chicago, IL


October 18

Reggie's Live
Chicago, IL


October 20

Dr. Grins @ The BOB
Grand Rapids, MI


October 21

Pittsburgh Improv
Pittsburgh, PA


October 22

Snickerz Comedy Club
Fort Wayne, IN


October 23

Cleveland Improv
Cleveland OH


October 24

The Machine Shop
Flint, MI


October 25

The Token Lounge
Detroit, MI


November 11

The Greek Club
Brisbane, AU


November 12

Venue TBA
Canberra, AU


November 14

UNSW Roundhouse
Sydney, AU


November 16

Capri Theatre
Adelaide, AU


November 18

Fly By Night Club
Perth, AU


November 22

Dallas Brooks Centre
Melbourne, AU



Extreme Elvis

Still haven't started work on The Man Show and with the wife out in Colorado to see her folks, I had no choice but go to Vegas to see Extreme Elvis at The Beach. I never need an excuse to go to Vegas but I've been to The Beach and I couldn't imagine any place I'd rather see get pissed on by a fat naked man.

The Beach is like any shithole, ant trap nightclub full of dense, spring-break, Girls-Gone-Wild, tanning bed Hitler-Youth that you can find in any city in our proud country. They have hot chicks in string bikinis standing over huge aluminum tubs of beer and mondo thick-neck bouncers that surely could have gone pro if they hadn't blown out their knee in their senior year. Add an over-powering run-un dance song and an exorbanent cover charge and mules will stand in line for hours to get in.

The only band I'd rather see playing there would be Great White.

Elvis was scheduled to be there with The Extra Action Marching Band, a 30-some piece band of musicians and exotic dancers but their bus had broken down in Flagstaff and it looked doubtful they'd make the gig. The promoter who'd booked the show had been fired - big surprise - and the management just wanted to get the show over with. They told Elvis that there was to be no nudity, although that hadn't been the original agreement. Then they made the mistake of paying him up front.

Live and learn.

Having stalled for the Marching Band as long as he could and no longer being able to tolerate the bad dance music, Elvis started the show a little after 11pm. Penn and Teller were there for the show and Penn introduced the band. The Beach is a barn of a place, full of the usual flashing lights and smoke machines and feels as much like a beach as an airplane hanger with a cardboard plam tree slapped on the wall. To look at the dance floor you'd think that every episode of Elimidate was being filmed at once. The dancefloor cleared and fled to the corners when Elvis came on stage while the Elvis fans in the corners ran to the front.

Now the only question was how long he'd last before they pulled the plug. Uber-security stood at either side of the stage with ear-pieces hanging from their shave-shined heads, waiting for orders to kill.

They looked at each other like down-syndrome children while Elvis emptied beer bottles on the crowd. They shrugged when he stripped down to a tiger-print unitard and then down to a g-string. By the time he was naked and pissing into a fake potted palm tree beside the stage, I didn't see them anywhere.

Amazingly, the show went on, at least for another two songs. In the middle of the finale, as EE lumbered across the length of the dance floor, the meat-staff finally got the order to put the hammer down. Elvis tried to give em the slip but was grabbed and told "Show's Over".

We all went back to the dressing room under heavy guard and were told to get the fuck out as soon as possible. I tried to drink as much of the free beer backstage as I could while Elvis attmepted to quell the roid-rage of the Beach boys. Then the angriest and evidently lowest on the totem pole of the doormen flew into the room in a fury and started screaming at EE. He had just been taken off hand-stamp and jeering duty and been given the task of removing EE's palm tree urinal and he was very angry with no one to hit.

Just go clean up the piss pot, Sharon, and pine for the day you were first string.

The show moved on to the Double Down Saloon, the only bar I know of in Vegas that is EE-friendly, where the people have piercings and tattoos, not because they are trendy, but because they hurt. Elvis did a free show there and blew the place up with a black-caped, screaming rendition of some Black Sabbath song that I was too drunk to remember.

I tried to hang out for the Extra Action Marching Band who had finally made it to town, but now it was almost 3 am and right when I decided I couldn't last another minute I saw a panic in the middle of the bar with a guy down on the floor. It was the marching band's drummer, or one of them, having an epileptic seizure. That was show enough for me. As good as I've heard they are, you'll never see people run away from a good seizure to go watch a band.

If you haven't seen EE yet, it's the best show you'll see if you love chaos. Check his schedule or better yet, find a bar with balls in your town and book him ~


Back To Work

I have cancelled the Glasgow Comedy Festival due to The Man Show shooting schedule but will still be keeping the Charlotte and Peoria dates. Have also added Tommy Rockers for my birthday.

For the second time in three weeks I'm flying over to the UK to do one show and fly right back out, this time to Glasgow to do ten minutes for some BBC show. Since I had to cancel the Glasgow Comedy Festival dates later in the month, I figured I'd squeeze this in. The first class air on Virgin Atlantic helped the decision. These motherfuckers have a regular bar and massages in first class. Heck, I'll do the handjob myself.

Aspen was the same industry hoo-ha it always is but I got to meet Phil Hendrieand he's cool as fuck. Rogan destroyed the place and I missed some final night hijinx but the whole thing was an extended hangover with some snowmobiling worked in.

I'll get pictures up soon.

             Photographer Chris Saunders.

Check out this guys work


Mother needs her breast implants taken out ( I think she realizes she doesn't really need them anymore and they're beginning to turn hard and hurt) so buy my shit or send me a large sum of money. Otherwise I'll have to wait until I get a fan that does tit work and wants to trade out.

NOTICE! I had to cancel my upcoming Houston date at the Laff Stop. I'll be going to Aspen with Rogan to promote the Man Show in some fashion. All my other dates are tentative until I know the shooting schedule so make sure to check back before you go running off to the club.

Nothing makes leaving the country suck worse than that last stop coming back through US Customs. Every time I swear I'll never leave again, at least not on a round trip ticket.

13 hours on a plane from the UK and I have the cigarette dangling from my lips, lighter in my shakey hand only to hit the line at customs like it was Saturday night at the Viper Room with whispers that Johnny Depp is inside. Big Velvet Rope. You don't even want in but you have to because all your shit is in there.

After the line you hit the Nazi who small-talks you, looking for signs of weakness. Problem is - if you're not social, if you don't ass-kiss, you get searched. And I really need a cigarette.

27 hours in the air to do one 80 minute show. By the time I got on stage, I hadn't the slightest clue what I was saying. So I just talked until my watch said it was time to leave, drink some beers and get on a plane home. Thanks to those who showed up and tolerated the jet-lag and lack of ambition that I call comedy.

Sorry, I missed the war protests, it could've made for good fun.

"No blood for duct tape!" or some such mockery.

Man, am I tired.

Towns for sale on eBay keep making the news. Lemme know when there's a country for sale. I know a bunch of us who could all kick in and make it a great event.


Deal is Done

I just got the call from Joe Rogan who tells me it's now a done deal. We are the new hosts of The Man Show on Comedy Central. More when I get the details.


A scrotum is supposed to have wrinkles, right?

Mine does not anymore and I'm starting to worry. 12 days after the vasectomy my balls continue to grow like nuclear tomatoes.

Hard lumps have developed, one flucuates between the size of a large seeded red grape and a small egg and the other bigger than a peice of Double Bubble bubble gum.

My hypochondria wanes with drink and vicodin and then races back with a fury when getting a morning eye-load of the monstrosity that is my sack, ballooning like the fat kid from Willy Wonka.

They say to wait 72 hours and I'd love to meet the superhero who would want to jack off three days after this shit. It took me a week before I allowed myself to blow a load and then did so squinting like a girl at a scary movie, expecting blood and stitches to fly out of me.

Sure, I should go back to the doctor. But I'm on the road and I don't like doctors. Doctors started this shit. Probably sewed up a half dollar in there as a goof. I prefer to exhaust all the home remedies before I zip down to the man with the scalpel. Heating pads, ice packs, hot bath, chicken soup, tylenol, Jagermeister, hystrionic weeping, prayer, Celebrex, sensory deprivation, leeches, acupuncture, laying on of hands and/or feet, vicodin, voodoo, flotation tanks as well as fresh air and Gold Bond Medicated Powder. If none of these work, or if the seams of my sack start to tear from the pressure, then I'll see about going back to the good doctor.

In the meantime, I will continue to pull out my balls at the bar with timid cupped hands to horrify my friends and family.

The Hinden-Bag.

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me bitter.