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TOUR DATES

 

November 26

University of Auckland
Auckland, NZ
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No other New Zealand cities/towns will be added

 

Friday
Mar142003

Welcome Home, Lizzie

After two days of watching Ed Smart on the news, I am now convinced that Elizabeth disappeared willingly in order to avoid the inevitable day that she came home to find her father being savagely raped by a man he paid to dress up like a Hell's Angel.

In fact, I now believe that's what all of these handymen were doing at the Smart house. They sure seemed to hire a lot of drifters with pocket money to do odd jobs. It was said in the LA Times that Mrs Smart had met this Brian Mitchell on the street, given him 5 dollars and hired him to work on their roof. Sure, you meet a guy dressed in a robe and a bakers hat, looking like a Jewish Bigfoot(find a pic and put it up here if you have time), slap a fin and your home address in his hand and tell him to bring his own shingles.

 

Fat chance.

 

I think Mom Smart was procuring street riff-raff to come home and take septic dumps on her husband and kick him around in his diaper in the garage until the kids came home.

"Who's that, Daddy?"

"Uh... that was the roofer." he'd say, rushing in wearing a blanket and a disposable shower cap, wiping sweat from his brow.

"What's that smell?"

Uh... there was a skunk in the garage?" he'd answer, using his body to sheild the doorway where Mom furiously scrubbed excrement from the cement floor.

Now you wonder when Elizabeth says she could hear people searching for her but couldn't respond.

When I first heard that she was alive, bitterness actually left me for a moment. I found myself having feelings that could almost be described as positive. But thanks to CNN, I can always find bitterness, day or night, just a click of a button away.

Right there in front of 1,000 cameras and obvious questions, Ed Smart was railing on the powers that be in Washington to pass Amber Alert legislation. Fuck the war, says Ed, a handful of children go missing every year! And Jesus doesn't love them as much as he loves our family so we need the governments help, too!

Amber Alert. Good idea, I'm sure. So pay for it. You cunt. Spend your time in front of the cameras drumming up private funding, you cunt. I'm sure there's enough parents out there equally concerned and finacially endowed as yourself. Then there are the rest of us who don't have kids and don't really want to cough up more dough to protect yours.

I don't neccessarily see where she's better off in that home than in a homeless guys teepee, except that she's obviously going to be hot and we all know how girls that get force-fed religion turn out - especially that low-competency Mormon shit. Keep pounding that into her head, Ed, and I'll be looking for her mouthing Snoop Dogg's garbage bag on "Girls Gone Wild" in about three years.

In the meantime, I pray to the same God I use in roulette that you don't get John Walsh Syndrome, where you get such an unquenchable thirst for media attention that you milk a personal ordeal flat just to feed your newborn ego. Remember, people have watched you cry for the last nine months, not because they value your opinion but because your tragedy - and now your incredible good fortune - are really entertaining. And while you thought you were touching America's heart strings, most of us were wondering how long before you dump the family man act, put on a girdle and go suck a dick.

 

Welcome home, Lizzie.

Thursday
Mar132003

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 ~ www.extremeelvis.com

Tuesday
Mar042003

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        http://www.cmsaunders.free-online.co.uk

 

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.