Wowza

Last night's show at the Improv was simply amazing. Not only did we have motherfucking Jim Gaffigan on the show, but I killed, which is always fun. I don't think it was completely my doing that I slaughtered the audience, either. I mean, they were super supportive and, besides a couple of other comedians, they loved just about anyone who was willing to talk to them in a funny way

However, the funniest thing to happen actually happened the previous show. I was telling my joke about my roommates in which I say, "I walked into a bathroom and I saw on the wall, 'I fucking hate Jews,' and I thought, 'Wow, I need new roommates.'" Anyway, when I got to the part in the joke where I said, "I fucking hate Jews," about five people in the audience laughed.

I just paused, stared at them, and said, "Wow, you really weren't supposed to laugh at that joke." The audience loved that. I myself couldn't stop laughing just because it was so amazingly funny to me that they would laugh at that part of the joke. As it turned out, everyone had a great time and I did a solid set. Still, as it stands, that was one of the funniest moments I've ever had on stage in recent memory.

I also need a new tape recorder as my last recorder has disappeared like a left sock.

The Lungshot Lifestory

If there's anything that's ever really made me laugh in a video game, it's what Dan and I refer to as the "lungshot lifestory." Named after a certain Sniper Wolf, video games tend to humanize characters by allowing them to have massive speeches as they're dying. In video games, Oscar Wilde wouldn't have just said, "Either the curtains go or I do," he would've recited a whole new play which examined his life after being shamed for the sodomy charges which brought him to ruin. Maybe it would've been more dramatic, but a little less cool.

As it stands, this is the exact problem I've been working with editing my material. As I've said to a number of comics, the better I get at comedy, the less material I have on stage. In other words, the better I become, the more tight my jokes are and therefore I don't spend thirty minutes regaling the audience with a set-up that has one, two punchlines.

While I like telling stories to the audience (ones with characters and events and beginnings and middles and ends and climaxes, oh the climaxes), I think the tough lesson I've learned over the past year and a half was that a comedy audience doesn't give a fuck about your day or what you did recently unless there's some type of payoff. A humorous story reads well on paper, but they need that rimshot to really get into it. Maybe "need" is a bit of an overstatement, but I've found myself less and less happy with my material when it's not spotted with punchlines.

I was born on a battlefield, raised on a battlefield...

To Live and Die in Florida

Been visiting Dan (who's about to move out to Miami for college) and the family down in Florida. Although the trip hasn't been the most productive I've ever taken, I did get a good chance to write a few new jokes to try out when I return to doing The World shows at the Improv next week. One of my favorites is as follows:

"Most comedians have some revelatory moment when they knew they wanted to become a comic. Mine was when I was a little kid. I was with my grandmother in the supermarket. So, we're getting milk and she keeps reaching to the way back of the shelf. I say, 'What are you doing?' And she tells me that she wants to get the milk that has the latest expiration date. Thinking I was clever, I said, 'Wow, I wish you did that for grandpa. He'd still be here today.'"

If the story wasn't mean-spirited and completely fabricated, I think I'd try to get it into Reader's Digest so old women could cluck over how cute I am. Golly.

HMBNY

Many people ask me, "Mike, can I ask you something," to which I usually reply, "Nah, dawg, nah." And then they usually think I'm joking, which I'm really not, I fucking swear, and they ask me, "What makes you such a handsome man?" And I have to sit and think, not because I'm formulating a perfect lie to match their likely verbal irony inherent in the question, but because I am actually qualified by the Handsome Men Bureau of New York (HMBNY for those of us in the know) as a Level 5 Hot Dude.

Now, before you start gumming your brains Googling for the definition behind each level, let me be clear and a little stern with you. The levels are a well-known secret. But since you're my personal friend, anonymous Internet reader, I think I can open up my chest of treasures and show you where the aorta meets the other part of the heart I can't remember and am too lazy to look up.

Now, according to the HMBNY, there are approximately six levels of hot men. Most men, your Gilbert Godfries and your Whitney Houstons are level 1. It's a base level at which many men operate. There's nothing wrong with it - a good pyramid needs a strong base - but I wouldn't be caught dead speaking to a level 1, let alone massaging one out of friendship and veiled attraction.

If level 1 is the Craiglist of men, level 2 is J-Date. Better, but they're still riding a raft down Ugly River with [Mark Twain character of African-American descent] Jim. Those previous brackets in that last sentence which may have impressed you, you don't have to say it, I saw it in your eyes, are often used to replace material with something less offensive or summarizing. How do you replace something with "something less...summarizing," you ask? It was a grammatical mistake, I'm sorry. I meant you might summarize something as an alternative use for the parentheticals instead of putting in something less offensive. I'm sorry. If you're not impressed, too bad, because you know what, this is my essay; this is not a two-way road, Mr. Opinion Of the Week. Right, level 2. A level 2 is a guy like, I don't fucking know, Santa Claus or Sam Waterson.

Level 3, now we're on the road to comely. Hoo boy, are we ever. Colin Firth, Colin Farrell, Colin Quinn, all sorts of Colins fit into this category, something we might call "pretty." If you're Irish, you're probably a level 3. I don't care who you are, you're level 3.

At level 4 we find movie stars such as Tom Hanks (not Colin Hanks because he's a motherfucking level 3), Chuck Woolery, and Hollywood heartthrob Vince Vaughn. These men are level 4 because they're debonair, suave, and [synonym]. If you've ever starred in a romantic comedy (Billy Crystal not withstanding), you're probably a level 4. Dan Marino's sly hurry-up offense plays also put him squarely in the level 4 category, but don't think we can't take that away from you Dan, because we will, goddamnit.

I'm at level 5 and that's all the hot sweet shit you need to know.

Much like the fictional Highlander character, there may only be one level 6 handsome man at a time. Right now it's David Bowie and, after he's gone, I'm putting my money on Ryan Gosling. God he's handsome.

So where was I before I got distracted? Right. Some people ask me, "What makes you a handsome man?" And I tend to tell them exfoliating because it really clears up the pores and keeps me feeling fresh and confident in the afternoon, I suggest [Brand Name] bodywash because, not only does it scrub away the dirt and grime from a hard day's work scoping out the hotties at Barnes and Noble, but it also leaves a refreshing scent which will stick to your skin like frozen TV dinner to a latchkey-kid's palate.