The
first good thing that happened today was I woke up. That sounds a bit
morbid doesn't it? Well dead the arrogance guys, every day you don't
wake up to fire bearing down on your pathetic human face and bugs
crawling beneath your skin, you should be thankful... today was one
of those days for me, and I chalked it up to good luck.
Also though, I woke up at 10:30am with very little hangover to speak of after a reasonable effort drinks-wise at the Rochester last night, so that's another boon. Finally though, I woke up to the reality that my family and close friends do NOT, in fact, hate me, and want to destroy my comedy career. What more can a guy ask for! Okay, explaining: I had a dream just before I woke up wherein I was on some sort of comedy tour, and my family and a few close friends were there – I seem to remember there were exactly fifteen people, for some reason. They were all standing in a line along the bar, and I was in the middle of a sparsely populated room, trying my best to entertain apathetic losers, and in doing so, going way over my allotted time. I got halfway through my 'Friend's Girlfriend is a 9.5 out of 10' routine, and then my mum called me out for going over time. Infuriated, I threw my bag on the floor and stormed out of the bar and into the bar toilets, where I found an almost full bottle of vodka, and, feeling slightly dejected and stroppy, partook upon it's liquid delights.
I don't know why I stated getting all wordy and verbose at the end of that description there... maybe the ethereal nature of the dream necessitated a flowery description, or maybe I'm just a cunt. We'll never know for sure, will we?
No.
Also something great about this morning is that I get to listen back to the thirty or so minutes of me MCing the Rochester last night. We once again had our best night ever, that makes three weeks in a row now of breaking records, hopefully things keep going like this. I'm pretty sure the posters on the ground are proving a great success and I can see people looking at them every time they walk past so FUCK YEAH! I'm still unsure about my 'Nursing Homes into Casinos – Racism' routine, it didn't completely hit last night, although I did still get to say everything I wanted to say and it finished on a big laugh as well... it doesn't have the pacing of a great routine, but it does have a few big laughs in there, and for something that actually has a point to make (more or less... ha) it should be okay for a few months... I might pull it out for the fringe show, we'll see.
Finally, last night I, true to form, was shot down for an drunken offer for last-minute sexy sexy times by a ladygirl. Nothing new there, but considering how fucking great the night preceding my ultimate failure at the hands of woman-kind was, I think I can handle it. You win some, you lose some folks, and as the great Ned Kelly once said, “at least I can still jack it to internet porn when I get home.”
Peace, Taco.
Also though, I woke up at 10:30am with very little hangover to speak of after a reasonable effort drinks-wise at the Rochester last night, so that's another boon. Finally though, I woke up to the reality that my family and close friends do NOT, in fact, hate me, and want to destroy my comedy career. What more can a guy ask for! Okay, explaining: I had a dream just before I woke up wherein I was on some sort of comedy tour, and my family and a few close friends were there – I seem to remember there were exactly fifteen people, for some reason. They were all standing in a line along the bar, and I was in the middle of a sparsely populated room, trying my best to entertain apathetic losers, and in doing so, going way over my allotted time. I got halfway through my 'Friend's Girlfriend is a 9.5 out of 10' routine, and then my mum called me out for going over time. Infuriated, I threw my bag on the floor and stormed out of the bar and into the bar toilets, where I found an almost full bottle of vodka, and, feeling slightly dejected and stroppy, partook upon it's liquid delights.
I don't know why I stated getting all wordy and verbose at the end of that description there... maybe the ethereal nature of the dream necessitated a flowery description, or maybe I'm just a cunt. We'll never know for sure, will we?
No.
Also something great about this morning is that I get to listen back to the thirty or so minutes of me MCing the Rochester last night. We once again had our best night ever, that makes three weeks in a row now of breaking records, hopefully things keep going like this. I'm pretty sure the posters on the ground are proving a great success and I can see people looking at them every time they walk past so FUCK YEAH! I'm still unsure about my 'Nursing Homes into Casinos – Racism' routine, it didn't completely hit last night, although I did still get to say everything I wanted to say and it finished on a big laugh as well... it doesn't have the pacing of a great routine, but it does have a few big laughs in there, and for something that actually has a point to make (more or less... ha) it should be okay for a few months... I might pull it out for the fringe show, we'll see.
Finally, last night I, true to form, was shot down for an drunken offer for last-minute sexy sexy times by a ladygirl. Nothing new there, but considering how fucking great the night preceding my ultimate failure at the hands of woman-kind was, I think I can handle it. You win some, you lose some folks, and as the great Ned Kelly once said, “at least I can still jack it to internet porn when I get home.”
Peace, Taco.
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