THe FReCKLeD FINGeR

Sorry for the almost full-day-late post, but I'm an unbearably lazy piece of shite... also, yesterday was busy.

PREFACE

I decided to save this post until I got home last night, which definitely would bring some fodder for hatred for humanity as I was in the thick of nature.  I was stuffed to the brim inside Caroline's On Broadway taking in a comedy show from the best working comedian on the planet, Louis CK.  OK, so I may be biased because he too is a redhead, but the proof is in the strawberry pudding.

It makes sense that the few stand-ups that reach a certain level of fame and appreciation, simply walk away from the stage.  Pryor, Eddie Murphy, Carlin and Steve Martin have all disclosed the handicap that comes from being a world renowned comic:  genuine laughter.  You reach a certain level of success as a comedian and you'll never again know if you are in fact, funny enough to justify your success.  You tell jokes to sheep your whole life and worked your way up the stand-up ladder to the point where you are a hot-ticketed headline act and therefore, no matter what's being said, people will laugh.  Was the joke funny?  You'll never know.  People will laugh because it's their beloved comedian who is telling the jokes.  George Carlin could simply tell a knock-knock joke, but in his voice and demeanor, you'll find it funny.  If you're retarded and never heard of these comedians, it also worked with people of tremendous power.  For instance, Barack Obama.  If he was giving a speech and you were attending, you'll take everything he has to say as truth and it will fill you with whatever feeling he is portraying onto you.  He may tell you bad news and you will feel worry or fear.  He could tell you how the economy is turning around, and you will then feel a sense of hope. 

Louis CK has reached that point.  Don't get me wrong, he's a funny sonofabitch, but he's attained the dreaded holy grail of comedy where he doesn't need to be funny to generate laughs.

ACTUAL RANT

Having said that, I sat uncomfortably close to one of these cackling shitheads.  Now, I'm not sure if you have ever been to a comedy club or not, but the general idea is to pack as many people as they can into a moderately-sized room all while allotting enough room for the stage, dozens of tables and walkways for the waitresses... all trying to stay within the confines of a very strict NYC fire code, mind you.  Anyway, I was literally touching shoulders with this woman next to me.  I barely even like to touch a women when having sex, so why the hell would I want to be touching a women when I'm in public...?

After every joke.  EVERY joke, this women had her own relevant and, what she though, clever 'side-story' about said joke.

Comedian: "... anyway, the point is, I don't understand why these people were standing when the plane landed."

Woman: "Oh my god, I do that too... that's so true, that's so true.  Remember?  Honey.  Remember on the plane honey? So true."

 

Comedian: "You can't read fun, interesting stories to your daughter.  No, you have to read them boring shit so they'll fall asleep faster."

Woman: "Not our son.  Brian, our nine-year-old, loves our stories.  Honey, remember that story we told him on Thursday?  Oh boy, he loved it.  I think he now wants to write books when he's older."

 

Comedian: "I mean, it's not like God is looking down and seeing heterosexual sex and is OK with it then look over and see two gay guys fucking and has a fit."

Woman: "You know what, that's right.  I don't know what the big deal is.  Why do people even care about gay marriage.  Some people are just so ignorant, ya'know?  Boy, I'll tell ya.  Some people."

All night with this ill-timed conversation holding cunt.  No one at the table even wanted to hear it, either.  That's what blew me fuckin' away.  She did that 'arm grab to reiterate that you are talking to them' thing... that's the business where you grab the forearm of whoever you are addressing because they could give a shit about what is coming out of your mouth but your opinion WILL BE HEARD.  Shouldn't she know by now everyone hates her?  I've sat next to this woman for only twenty minutes and I wanted her to die horrifically in a house fire. 

Her husband or boyfriend or whoever's night she ruined will eventually leave her.  I've never been more sure about something in my entire life.  Her son, Brian, remember him?  Yea, well, he'll kill himself with drugs.  Guaranteed.

She'll, of course, talk over whoever is giving the eulogy.

"Oh my god, Brian used to love eulogies, too."