Super Moth Black Rainbow

My housemate got freaked b/c a "big bug" came into her room. That bug was a moth. Another housemate, also female, tried to help her capture it of all things. The girls screamed girly screams while trying to capture and release the bug back into the wild. They were so loud I could not really hear the television so I eventually went in and saw what the deal was. It was a big moth. I got hold of the paper and mug female roomie 1 had been trying to use to escort the moth out of the room. I took over and got up on the chair used to reach the bug on the ceiling. The thing flew around erratically like moths do in the half foot cubed area the lamp made. I thought there was no way I could kill the thing, tweaking out rapidly in the lamp. I had not told the two I was going to smear the bug, but all of a sudden it landed still on the ceiling and I went in for the kill. I was not even that fast but I squarely pushed its body in, as though the time had come. I could feel the moth's face get crushed motherfucker as I compressed it. Before I killed it it looked about as cute as a moth could. As I brought the bug body down from the lamp area it was on its back on white paper. I slowly and carefully lowered the bug as it descended. The bug seemed to sacrifice itself of give up as it did not use its bug reflexes of insane quickness to escape my murdddda murda. He was like, "I will die so you, John Staley, can look like the man in front of these two ladies." I felt bad about making the little gray stain on the ceiling, not for the sake of the mess but because I personified the bug as a sacrificial figure.
I realized something that rinsed my anxiety to a lower level; the fact that the bug died in a spot that it would want to be most means I killed it in its paradise. A light packed ecstasy. That bug was on moth heroine. Moth horse - so fuck it. It went that way.

Staleface Earns First Stand-Up Dough Amid Sketchiness

Staleface made himself a cool $5.50 at the Out of the Blue art gallery in Central Sq., Cambridge, MA on Thursday. Coaxed by his housemate to go to the $5 entry open mic (later found out to have contest format) instead of local favorite Grandma's Basement near Fenway, he staled his way through a set that had a few red flags (not on his part). The first deterrent came in the form of 5 bones to do open mic. Fuck that. But it had a potential payoff of 10% of the door (50 cent more than the entry it turns out). The wacky host Bob Gatreau also raised a red flag mostly by his zany characterture of himself for an FB profile pic. So I went into the mic knowing the host had jaherkov eminating from his persona. The motherfucker showed up in a salmon tie. Shaped like a river fish. Wow! FUNNY SHIT! He had super campy material about, like, Frankenstein's mother and Dracula's mother, how rock singers sound like farm animals and like shiet. He brings up my housemate and he does a few notches under alright and then brings me up right after according to the random selection process.
So, I go on stage and start with observations and feelings about the room. About a minute into it I saw in the upper right-hand corner of the room Bobby's camcorder taping the whole thing. He mentioned to somebody else (not the all the performers) that he would tape. That meant early in my set I thought "Oh fuck" for the next 5-7 minutes. After my set I approached BGizzle as he finished a cigarette of all things (hacks smoke? Yeah... for the edge) and asked if he recorded for promotional purposes or something. He said he just wanted to have it which means he will later use it for promo if one of the performers at the mic makes it, also to nab my or other's jokes. He would not post the video but would sell it to me for $25. So after I sort of make my presence felt he replies, "I'd give you a copy but I wouldn't want to see it because of the audience reaction. So this guy who sneakily records the show tries to take me down a peg by saying I did not get reaction. What he then said is he wanted to see me in front of a crowd, meaning a big one. So he meant the video could use more audience but he could not help slide in some cowardly passive aggression.
Take the money and run. To quote Ice Cube, "I ain't going back" despite the cool Ukrainian chick that worked the door (Go Ukrain :) and though I made it to the semis, Gafaux makes the semi-finalists pay door. This "open mic" lacks talent and works as camp central, but I did make enough for a sticker pack from Hippy Tree. Perhaps I will post my set from the show later.
Later.

Surprises from The Gas!

Philly came to Boston at Allston's The Gas @ Great Scott. The Philly comics performed as expected. Funny. Alex Pearlman opened the Philly ending to the show with a tear of solid comedy the style this writer likes. He riffed on the traffic in CT on the way over to Boston. It had a taboo-but-not-really-come-on, as this writer puts it, theme. The show featured stand out sets from Ryan Shea and Caitlin Durante. Shea awoke the crowd from, as the Dedham band Magic Magic's front man puts it, "the Boston Coma" by talking about Boston of all things. That and he release a guttural, visceral scream about Badminton that connected on two pleasing levels. His Boston material refreshed this reviewer and it did so skillfully because some comics talk about Bean and this writer could care less. He turned on the humor switch.
Caitlin Durante started her enjoyable, intellectually stimulating set with a misdirection joke that pulled the audience hard and got a big laugh of surprise. It caught this comic off guard. It shot energy into the crowd and they got excited for what came next. Her set had all well constructed jokes. She got some classic "comedian" laughs from the audience as she raised the bar in the room with jokes coming from a constructed character of superficiality. Pro female comics do that type of character and Caitlin made this writer realize how much he likes that kind of comedy. An innovative set that left the audience in soft awe.
See these comics perform live! Worth the five bucks :)

Good Vs Evil

When bad brings its A game, one considers it evil. Good has its base level of good. Casual good beats the highest extent of bad.

The Good Kind of Warm

On the bubble of mid-level comic Will Noonan looked at me like I would get pissed. He said he snuck or squeezed in the open mic list at Grandma's Basement (1271 Boylston St. Boston, MA) just before my turn to perform. Maybe I would have ribbed him in the quintessential comic style if I needed to hurry off somewhere after my set, but I had time so I chuckled to myself. I chuckled to myself during the beginning part of my set because for the first time in seven years doing comedy, an audience felt warm to me. Literally warm. It had a pleasant warmness to it, opposite from that of a public pool. How did this happen? The comic known as Noonan (or just Will as he would probably say) made his seemingly off-the-cuff set from the night's topic of strip clubs. Apparently more than a few joke slingers dumped on gentleman's clubs for various reasons. Will said he did not appreciate the stigma attached to strip clubs because as the "type of guy" who liked going to strip clubs "to watch a Celtics game and see a butthole" (the dressed-down energy and delivery admittedly made me chuckle and feel levity amid tenseness), he saw strip clubs as a sort of "Cheers"y type place (he can use that if he wants). He knocked the pins in the room down by jesting strip club DJs on their sobering misfortunes and hackneyed jokes. He made the strip club atmosphere come to life with his accurate impression of a particular DJ and his interaction with an unfortunate bachelor. His performance of the situation at the club also elevated the comedic topic of strip clubs and their DJs. I heard gasps for air from the crowd amid laughter. I got slightly jealous. He damn near killed. He had to truncate his set due to time. This all benefited me (minus the truncation) in my performance because I went up, told my first joke and the crowd appeared without the usual thick black leaden sense of "turning-it-over" like a beater car engine to get laughs. I could sense warmth akin to an apple pie that Willy baked for me. I mischievously/playfully dipped my jokes into that pie and in turn they slicked from punchline to the next one's set-up with gooey delight. I do not know if I kept it warm for the next comic, Rich Karski (I must have because when Karski said Hitler, minding his evil or something, could get shit done, he got a burst of laughter) I did, however feel that set went more enjoyably, strongly, and comfortably than pretty much any other at that mic thanks in considerable part (bloggable even) to @willnoonan. 

Leftie and Rightie

"I verdantly wake to Spring's tranquil morning, ya know, Leftie?" 
"That I do, Rightie. I like it when our caretaker puts out on his Gator and trims us real nice."
"Yeah, we get some illustrious treatment, Leftie."
"Indeed, Rightie. When that stitched orb hits me so pleasantly, I just want to eat it."
"Sometimes you do, Left-Left. I don't mind the man standing on me. He treats me with respect."
"Mine spits sunflower seed shells and dips out on me."
"Can't you use that to grow?"
"I like the seeds, idk about the chaw, though, lol."
"When did you learn internet short hand, Leftie?"
"Oh, I picked it up when I got that Wrigley Left's number, 405 I believe."
"Mmmm, I'd like to play ball on that. She's American League sized if u know what I mean!"
"The lights feel soooo good on me... uh, oh, there they go!"
"I'm gonna hang back and doze off; night, Leftie."
"Good night, Rightie. Mmmmmm, sprinklers came on. Fuggyeah."
"Anyone wanna play ball?"
"Oh, Center!"

Back in Y'azz w/ the Resurrection

I started writing a comedy screenplay two years ago and fleshed out to the middle of the plot with about fifteen pages, so, naturally, it seems more like the screenplay got overstretched than fleshed. It felt too cliche in terms of plot devices and too risky to sell as a first time screenplay. However, now in retrospect and a facebook photo of the subject matter it really seems like it could make for an enjoyable movie experience. This baby gots all the makings! If you, dear reader, ever see me or have contact to me online (besides this comment section) then bug me bouts it! TY - staleface

The Gas! Gets Gassy! Maconemayerchiampapeeps

Steve Macone, man; this writer could go on for days and days about the fellow of humour. So much to write about. However the scene must get set for what could take hours regaling. The host of youth infested Allston's The Gas!, Boston comedy producer/comedian Rob Crean, kicked the show into gear with his intense pleasantness. His pleasantness turned to outrage as he went into his Boston favorite tea jokes. Found it nice to know that Rob's irritation about tea tax comes from this writer's place of employment, the Boston Common Coffee Company, which charges two dollars and an irrational three pennies extra for tea; sure to call any soul of New England to rise up in arms... or mic!  Rob-Rob got the crowd warm then the crowd burst w/ laughter when an out of place "Randy Newman" from the crowd answered Rob's quasi rhetorical question. Rob brought up charming Maria Chiampa, whose material roughly revolving around murder murdered. Her set went the full range of temp from chilly (asking, in her hostess-of-Sunday-Stand--up-at Cambridge's-ImprovBoston-show-tone, the cool kids in the back to come up only to bullshit responses) to very hot when she gave her absent, recently jailed :( sister a reality check by letting her know jail comes sparse with niceties one finds in a spa. A spa. Rob came on again and turned Randy Newman to a continuing reference. Andrew Mayer, with both adorable jokes that come sometimes with a dark tinge and seemingly contrasting tactile analyses, did very well as one could here the crowd repeat his punchlines often. Mayer made his way steadily through his set with experience and confidence to near the end where my favorite joke of the night suggested dinosaurs that discover their own fossils (presented as a web based fact by the comic) they would have an all too human reaction. The joke has a good take on human society or lack thereof through dino-relig. Ms. Kate Ghiloni came up next. She only allocated thee minutes of crowd work to herself for the set. Most of that time got eaten by a superstar wife that somehow got the show's attention by shouting she married the wrong person. Her husband who attended seemed flattered. Kate got herself out of the quicksand of drunken feelings by mentioning she started getting drunk again due to her feelings. She did her material on fantasy football which charmed the dudes. She does have above average sports knowledge, like her rag on the Bengals and how their real motivation comes from irresponsibility off-field. Sean Wilkinson, not a Bengal or father of ten, got the crowd as hot as Mayer did with material about his aesthetically unpleasing masturbation techniques and how his sex life could do plague like harm. Sounds funnier live, so go fuckin' see it! Go see Steve, too. He good.  

Ethan Marsh at The Gas! (Fa Real)

The Gas! at Great Scott sits on the corner of Harvard and Commonwealth Ave; the perfect place for a particular wayward individual to bum tobacco and beer money off of students and show his cock ring to young people. Luckily enough this has no indication of Ethan Marsh's show that took place inside! The show started off with a couple of Texan comics that mixed things up. The big bearded, thick glasses wearing Texan with a high, moderately effeminate voice used it to give his festival ready presence unto the biggest non-national headliner crowd this writer has seen in his fourth or fifth visit to the show. The crowd-pleasing Celtics shirt wearing follow-up comic looked like Mac from Sunny and had some hit-or-miss anti-jokes regarding racism and also some non-sequitor impressions. The Texan made a joke comics desire to make when he connected the forgotten mainstream event (popular at the time) to the present (where mentioning it exposes the desertion mainstream fans give their genre after the hit has gotten made). The joke connected Linkin Park and Jay-Z's collaboration to the present time. His set brought up local comics Ryan Douglass and Justin P. Drew, who did their routines to a nice reception. The show also featured a well-adjusted comic from that state NY who had a fluid set which happened to course in and out of a drunk heckler chick with a nice body. The guy nailed her pretty hard at the beginning, but lost a point when he compared her to Brittany Spears. The heckler successfully took made herself the center of attention when the host, Rob Crean, came on (as he politely catered to her). However, she treated this writer politely and even had a good point when she heckled a Domican comic for saying he "does not like being around drunk people". So, right on, Brittany, and yes, that comic did say he does not like being around drunks in a bar at a comedy show. The show did not feature any female comics so perhaps Brittany used her buzz to improperly represent her gender. She later got finished by the comic formally known as "The Shoe". Shane McHugh poetically summed it up when he bluntly mandated, "Nobody fuck this chick tonight." The laughed with agreement. Shane allowed the crowd into his life when he shared he does not have the sense of smell. He continued on with a solid performance that deprecated his position. Mixed in between the whole lead-up group of comics, a character from the Granite State (NH) had some things to say... about the no-good town of Allston, the necessity of wearing Big Dogs shirts, and an inevitable collapse into misery. The character came to life via Ethan Marsh - the man of the hour who celebrated his birthday in style with an encompassing set. It started with fresh energy of, as far as this BoCom scene regular knows, fresh material presented professionally. He hit several notes ranging from his like of super-dive bars, a personal fav Sleepy Time Tea, and using his suspicions as a hobby. The hobby served as a theme for the night. Make seeing stand-up comedy a hobby and see Ethan Marsh!

Short but sweeeet

If President Obama does in fact legalize marijuana before elections as rumors have speculated, one would think that the next time a Republican attained presidency they would pull that ish down. However, once the red dudes see how much cash Mary Jane will pull in, they will fuckin dance around in hemp underwear listening to Phish.
President Obama's inner Hawaiian will try to win over DEAFEDFDA Appropriateness Obama. Every sane person wants Barry's lil' Hawaiian to win! Sign Amendment 4200000000000A!

Duncan Trussell and Neil Hamburger @ The Gas!

Fourteen dollars for a comedy show proved worthy of erry penny especially because Neil Hamburger and Duncan Trussell kicked it w/ the lay people before and after the show and displayed their extraordinary nice personalities and down-to-earth attitudes by doing so (along with putting on a double double thumbs-up show). Evidence of t comes from this writer's testimony. The national touring comics chatted away with this stale, low-level comedian about piracy, standard pay for comedians (as in existent pay), and a totally gnar "vegan" chick that nonchalantly dictates a vegan dinner party then strolls along the street munchin' pepperoni pizza.
As an amateur comic, this writer got inspired by watching this video - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQ6eMG-dfas. Duncan Trussell, as it says on the Tube, made the video. This writer had the idea to tell the fuggin former manager of the world famous Comedy Store, host of personal favorite podcast The Duncan Trussell Family Hour (see link below), and general top-shelf, top-qual comedian that the booker had offered him to see a free concert in New York, but he would have to pay for travel and lodging, instead of payment! The nice guy liked the prospect of the free show in NYC as he congenially engaged in the idea, but midway through the pranking, when the part about him having to pay for travel and a hotel, the air of the conversation sank to around this writer fucking has the mental functioning of crazy street trash. So after the last part of the prank got pulled, saying he would get this very raw deal this blogger admitted to playing of Hitler Gets Invited to South by Southwest to a joyful appreciation and relief. He exclaimed, "I was thinking, 'What is this lunacy?'" They soon had to prepare for the show, although if this writer recalls correctly, Duncan came from doing something outside and rushed the stage.
The comics put on a intellectually stimulating show that hit multiple levels of engagement such as misery fueled retail worker pessimism, seemingly effortless, beautifully rich metaphors of metaphysical nature, and the art (or severe lack of) the joke, the latter unspoken but thematically identified. The rowdy crowd seemed intelligent, reverent (yes, rowdy and reverent - 'tis Allston), and open to controversial topics. Members of the crowd, too, can consider themselves lucky fucks b/c they politely interacted w/ the opener and headliner as well, but Duncan only offered one dude that night, this dude, a mfing Allagash. Check out the comedy producer, Rob Crean's site, http://www.facebook.com/andersoncomedy! Check out the comics', now on tour, sites at www.americasfunnyman.com/   and   http://duncantrussell.com/! Buy they merch! Neil conversed for every 90 albums he sells, 1000 get pirated. 1/10? Uno ratio-o muy malo. He probably could eat many more hamburgers if he had a higher yield for his work, right? On that lovely note, staleaponia awaaaaaaaaaay!

Dale Earnhardt Bullshit Bullshit

It's a corporate world and Dale Earnfardt (fuck yeah) Jr. Jr. knows it. The Detroit rock band entitled their debut album It's a Corporate World and the assumption by this writer came along the lines of an anti-corporate message (hurray!). One might understand the assumption since the message does come from a fucking rock group. However, these loathsome fucks accept its a corporate world by tooling themselves to sell out for a Taco Smell advertisement featuring the single "Morning Thought" (regretfully bought on iTunes by this writer). And what does the ad try to sell? Nacho filled burritos. Burritos. With nachos. In them. This writer offers to present new lines to "Morning Thought", "There were two, three, four - deals at your Taco Bell store; I was born just like - the 89 cent crunchy taco only at Taco Smell..."

Careful What You Say

1 faux-pas > 5 slip-ups. The f-p dropped at Grandma's Basement open mic in Boston tonight, and hopefully the one writing this blog gave the comic the hardest time about it. Hopefully what got inferred can speak on behalf of ignorance that got said (and only said b/c it got acknowledged prior to coming out vocally... in words... from a mouth). One can only say people from the ghetto do not have intelligence in an ignorant way. This got inferred, but what came out seemed more along the lines (and def w/ the tone) of an ignorant suburban blonde chick (anxiety). And fuck those 5 slip-ups!

This song got played on the iPod after the mic but should have got played beforehand.