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The Cure For The Royal Wedding

Here are my thoughts on how to deal with the Royal Wedding - as recorded at George Square Theatre on recent UK tour.

Neighbors

The UK Muslim Public Affairs Committe endorsed me on their website under the headline "Social Commentary at it's Best"   with a clip from my "No Refunds" DVD about nationalism.  

I don't know if someone didn't do their homework or if it's because the clip follows a track that's entitled "I Hate the Jews" but either way, I'll have to address this when I get to London next week.

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A guy from Norway came to the Santa Barbara show and kept yelling for me to do my spinach/anal sex joke. Granted my memory is moth-eaten and broken but I couldn't find any marker in my brain that could make sense of it. Finally I broke down and talked to him. He said that was the joke that made him come to the show. I made him tell the joke and I knew I had never said it or heard it in my life.

A few minutes later I was told by someone else that it was a Dan Tosh joke. The guy thought I was going to be Dan Tosh. The fact that I was a a short, raspy, disheveled drunk man didn't clue him in. 

Dan - if I see you on the road, I owe you 25 bucks for his ticket price.

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My apologies to my distant neighbors for the Superbowl party. In almost 6 years in Bisbee, we've only had one noise complaint and that was the first New Years Eve when the band played until 4:30 a.m. 

Warranted.

Understand that in this neighborhood at night, you can hear two people having a conversation on their porch two blocks over and one block up. And they aren't even excited. So when you have 50 or 70 people here for 4th of July or UFC or whatever dumb reason you find to drink in excess, everybody including the illegals coming over the hills has to hear every minute of it followed by all the awful songs on my iPod at top volume.

Yet nobody complains. Maybe in their heads or to each other but never to the police.

Until the Superbowl party. The night before the Superbowl we had a band play in the yard and although that was fine. It wasn't until my bright idea of letting comedians go up afterward did the trouble start.

Kristine Levine wasn't on stage ten minutes - ten minutes of phlegm-hacking murder - before the cops pulled up out front. By then I was pretty much anticipating their arrival and met em outside the fence. I asked if there was a noise issue. They countered that it was a profanity issue. Of course I knew this. Kristine's bit about how her children had destroyed her vagina - that it looked like she swallowed a dog who chewed it's way out - and so forth, echoing through the canyons and into the bedrooms of all the church-goers and Joe Lunch-Buckets in their dark houses - I saw that it could become a problem. 

I understand every club owner who ever had me booked at the same time as a Better Business Bureau company Christmas party. 

Sorry about the comment cards.

The cop was cool - came in to the scene with his flashlight and responded to the silence with "First of all, why weren't we invited?" I never thought I'd say a nice thing about cops but Bisbee has pretty decent guys on the force. And I understand the neighbors who complained. I wouldn't want to have comedy that I hate forced into my living room either. 

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I spent a couple weekends riding between gigs with these young comics with their tech-gadget thingys and evidently you can play your iPod in your car.

I have satellite radio and I think it's more valuable than cable tv for anyone that drives any kind of distance regularly. Worth it just for Stern and NFL alone.

But these guys had iPods loaded up with podcasts. 

Marc Maron's WTF, Joe Rogan and Bill Burr made travelling long miles through the south go by so fast that I wanted to circle blocks at the destinations so I didn't miss the end. Thanks, gentlemen. 
Google those pricks and listen to their shit. These crazy podcasts might just go somewhere.  

stanhope