I went to the local comedy club, and asked to see the most seasoned veteran/owner in the building. “Who runs this joint?..” I was taken to a small, smoke-filled room with a fax machine and empty bags of coke everywhere.

The owner of the club was sat in the only chair in the room wearing a blazer and ear stretchers - and was surprised that someone had just walked in. He immediately started putting away his dick with a panic-stricken face... I said calmingly: “Don’t worry, I want to be a comic…” The owner’s face turned from sheer terror to almost euphoric relief. “I thought you were here for drug mone.. never mind..”

He pulled his penis back out under the desk and resumed tugging… “So you think you’ve got what it takes to be a comic, hey? You think just any one can walk into a club and call themselves a comic? You think it’s that easy?” The owner then stood up, still jerking, and pointed to an array of medals on his blazer with his free hand, there were at least 30 medals!

I looked closely. The medals were all made of paper, and were clearly made by himself as the scissors and scraps of paper and colored pens were in the office in front of him. “So this is how it works in the comedy world, I have a lot to learn!” I thought to myself. He then said “Go get on stage, then..” impatiently, as he was still tugging and picking up speed and obviously did not want two other men to see his orgasm face, which would have been gay.

I was a little nervous so I ate another four Xanax as the reality of getting on stage hit me, because I had only taken two recently to balance out the 2 grams of cocaine I had been doing since midday. The cocaine/Xanax balance is a delicate and necessary part of the craft of comedy.

On the walk to the stage, there were 3 pictures in the hallway wall: Pryor, Carlin, and Dice. As I walked past Pryor, I stood up straight, and gave a strong, military style salute. I stood at the picture for at least 5 minutes in the same position, full salute. A single tear rolled down my cheek. Then I walked passed the two others and did the same thing to each as I walked to the stage.

I got on stage and the audience looked small. I did my set: a 15 minute crafted piece of art developed over many months. I talked about politics, while pulling some funny different faces. Then I told a half amusing story I completely fabricated. The crowd didn’t laugh, although someone did cough once. Bombing is just the part of the struggle of a comedian, I thought to myself as I left the club, 6 minutes short of the planned 15 minute set, and someone coughed “faggot” under their breath as I left.

As I stepped outside into the cold, I thought: “Fucking civilian, I am a comic now! Who is HE to tell ME what’s funny?

I marched back inside to confront the civilian who called me a faggot. I pointed in his face aggressively and shouted very loudly “HOW DARE YOU TELL A COMIC LIKE ME WHAT IS FUNNY, I WATCHED RICHARD PRYOR WHEN I WAS 15!!!” to which he replied: “Actually I called you a faggot.” Everyone in the bar started laughing hysterically. Fuck this. I wasn’t going to let these non-comics who don’t understand the craft demoralize me. I AM better than them. AND funnier. I left as they were all still laughing quite hard and I could still hear them laughing down the street.

I’m thinking of doing JRE? Has anyone got a direct link? Some sort of podcast where I can talk about the craft of comedy for hours?