Saturday, November 22, 2008

The Heckled

I never wanted to be a stand-up comedian. I hate this stuff. I am deadly serious. Death, there's a funny subject. See what I mean? I hate it, but life doesn't ask our permission, ever. You have to eat. You have to be something. I just happen to be good at writing jokes ... and telling them, but it's a curse, really. I'll tell you what I hate most about stand-up comedy -- I call it the "what's up with that" syndrome. You know, where someone comes out and reflects on something that happens to all of us, usually, and then the comic says, "What's up with that?" ... and the crowd just roars with laughter, while everyone is nodding and looking at the person with them, as if to say, You know, I can relate to that. Isn't that amazing? Well, it isn't amazing. Hey, breathing ... what's up with that? You see? I hate this stuff. And the thing that everyone can relate to is always something stupid, like, you know when you're putting on a pair of socks, and your toenails need to be clipped, and invariably a toenail, either on your little toe or your big toe, catches a thread of the sock, and you end up nearly tearing your foot off just to put on a damn sock? What's up with that? See what I mean? But people love that. But, damn it, don't laugh at that. Really. They love to go, Hey, that happens to me. I'm like the comedian. But no you're not. Nobody is like anybody else. What is so funny about relating to what someone else does in his miserable little life? Did you ever try to do a good or a funny dive or trick into the water, and you bust your ass in a way that you just land smack on your stomach or your back, and it hurts like hell, and you know that everyone around the diving board is just groaning or laughing, so that while you're underwater, for a split second, you think about not coming up, and you have this little argument with yourself, which can only be as long as you remain underwater, because when you come up, you have to say, Hey, I meant to do that. It didn't really hurt. That red splotch on my stomach or back or face is a birthmark that always shows up when I'm swimming. Did that ever happen to you? So what if it did? So what if you know what that form of embarrassment is like? Big deal. Get a life. Stop pissing away your money going to see somebody whom you think does just what you do, because you have a meaningless little life and you're trying to connect with humanity. You know what I mean? So what if we all fart, and yet you can't imagine other people being gross and farting, but you know they do, so you don't feel so crude afterwards, but you know that you are. Farting. What's funny about that? Kids love it, farting and farting jokes. You know what that's all about? Running out of things to laugh about, so you tell a fart joke, and everybody laughs, only nervously. You know how there are categories of farts. I don't even want to go there, because I hate bathroom humor, and it is gross. Dogs fart, but not much. You never hear a dog farting. You smell them farting, which is foul, because it's a dog fart. Horses fart like there's no tomorrow, but dogs as a rule are not farters. You know how you might fart around a dog, your pet, and they look at you like, Aren't you just the crude bastard, but I can relate to it, the earthiness of it, at least that's what you imagine your dog is thinking, and it's good that your dog can't talk and that he or she smells other dogs' butts, because with all the farting that people do, if your dog wanted to leave, he or she would have a good reason to do so, because you're uncouth, and the dog thinks you're trying to do it to punish the dog, only the dog likes it, but not in any delirious kind of way.

Hey, if you don't like stand-up, why are you freaking doin' it?

Stand-up? Freaking? Why do I stand up? Because I'm not a couch potato like it looks like that you are. I stand, rather than lay or sit, because I get paid to do this. What's your excuse?

I'm sitting because I'm drinking and eating, and listening to your stupid ass.

Oh, yeah? Big deal. Everybody sits. And freaking ... why do people like this moron say freaking instead of fucking. Fuck you, pal, and the horse you rode in on.

I don't do stand-up, and neither do you, so get off the stage.

What's up with hecklers? Everybody wants to kill a heckler, including the heckled, until the comedian dresses the heckler down, and everybody laughs at the heckler, so that he's waiting for you after the show? Unless you're bad, and you don't have a comeback, and then people hate the comedian. I'll kill you first, before I look bad, and pretend it's part of the act. Girls don't heckle. Guys heckle. If a girl heckled, nobody would like it. They'd think she was crazy or sexually confused. You know what I mean? Heckling. I'd heckle myself if there was any money in it.

You're an idiot.

What would be a good comeback for that? Anybody? I heard George Carlin get angry once at a heckler on a comedy record, and he just went ballistic, worse than Don Rickles, told the guy he hoped his family died in a car crash. Way over the top. I stopped liking Carlin after that, though he was brilliant. He was sick, too sick. I can't imagine his spirit floating around in a timeless state. He'd be lost without an audience, you know? Rickles always acts like he's really a good guy and he just pokes fun because he's really a great actor and likes to get outside of himself and act like an asshole. No he doesn't. He's a real asshole. Don Rickles is an asshole, but after he has been an asshole, he tries to act kind and unassuming, like, I just do this for a living, but he is so unbelieveable that you feel uncomfortable for him, and invariably, Rickles cares about being caring for only so long, before he launches into another tirade of how black people talk, or how goofy a Chinese man looks when he talks Chinese with squinty eyes and his teeth stuck out.

Get off the stage!

Okay, I will, because I hate this stuff. But I hate you more, so I'm going to kill you, but first, I'm going to have a comeback. Hey, asshole you come and get me off the stage, but let me remind you, I have a chainsaw backstage ... and I'll cut you up into little pieces and show everybody what your bowels look like. Ha, how's that? ... Wait, everybody ... comeback ... that's part of the show. Screw it, I'm still getting paid.

No, you aren't. Leave now, you're terrible.

Gee, boss. See what I mean? I hate this stuff.

We hate it more.

I'm getting my chainsaw.

The hell you are. Get out of my club.

I'm going to kill all of you. You too, boss. No, I'm really not ... that's part of the show.

Show's over.

Rickles does it. Why can't I do it? I hate this. I hate you, all of you. I hate myself, so I'm going to kill myself and blame it on you. Ha, what's up with that? I hate this stuff. You, too? You're all a bunch of freaking bastards. Don't you know how to laugh?

No comments: