Get It?

I’m tired of doing shows in Midtown. Fuck ‘em. Last night at The Improv, my clever--borderline genius--set was wasted on Finnish ppl who spoke NO English. They sat in the first row and winced as though a serious bout of diarrhea could strike at any moment.

What respectable city guide recommends a visit to a comedy club to tourists? Nothing is funny when it's said in a language you can't understand! Only Americans point and laugh at people whose customs and culture is strange or different from ours. But in the minds of foreigners, our whole country is a joke! They have only 200 years history and think they're number 1 best! Ha! Ha! Ha! United States = people who elected George Bush. Ha! Ha! Ha!

I did stand-up for Hanz & Franz. Part of my act involves satire based on the evolution of lesbians in popular culture. Those wooden-shoe-wearin' fuckers had no grasp of the difference between Sleater Kinney and Janice Ian, between ‘The Well of Loneliness’ and ‘On Our Backs,’ between Portia deRossi and Martina Navratilova. Below 14th street, that shit kills! And in Brooklyn? Don't get me started. (Hey Netherlanders! That was a shout out to Molly Shannon's hack comic character from SNL.)

I began to think about a life void of allusion. Would I have to invent another tool to assert my intellectual prowess? It's my raison d'etre, my life's blood, my credo! Dennis Miller has made a living out of it and he's an asshole. Think about how well received his schtick with attitude would be if it came in a cute, blond, tiny and charming little package adorned in J Crew. For my first HBO special, I'd communicate using lyrics of 70s sitcom theme songs. My career would be over if I weren't able to get a laugh by tossing a MacBeth bone just to patronize anyone who catches it, "Oh! Good for you!" I'd wither and return to dust. See, it's the cool people get me without explanation. We've read all the same books and magazines. There's a catalogue full of McDonald's commercial jingles in our grey matter. We've all spent countless hours in front of a glowing TV. We're special and I need them to make me a star! I mean, Salt N' Peppa are right. This song ain't for everybody. Only the sexy people. That's how I pick my friends! If I say, "I hate you and your ass face!" and you don't recognize it from Waiting for Guffman, there is no potential for a relationship between you and I. Are you unable to name the theme song from the Living Daylights installation of the 007 films? How about who performed it? No? Get outta my ass face! Pop culture snobbery is the basis for all of my relationships. I would be lost without it. The concept alone stirs sadness in the soul I wish I had.

So, methinks my struggle to entertain without employing techniques like ‘think lowest common denominator,’ 'men and women are different, 'work sucks,' a little misogyny never killed any body,'or ‘copious sex and fart jokes’ has arrived at its end. Last night I actually caved toward the end of my spot and did this old fart joke that I haven’t done in 2 years. It earned the biggest laugh. (Don’t get me wrong. Even if you’re a Rhodes Scholar, falling and farting are the funniest subjects ever. And if you can fall AND fart simultaneously, you rank atop Buster Keaton in my opinion.) Bottom line: I have decided to lower the bar and acknowledge the sound defeat. Good for you, dummies. You win. I will write material specifically tailored to amuse TOURISTS and RED STATES and the G.E.D. set. Jokes for the painfully un-savvy coming up!