Fear of a Black Vagina

Claymation Artist Re-Enactment Fear of a Black Vagina Milwaukee, WI I was near sixteen years old, so far as my flawed memory can peg it. My step-sister -- whom to this day I hope has cervical cancer and no insurance -- had a girlfriend of color named Penny who would sleep over and occasionally fuck my brother and me, much to the annoyance of the step-sister we hated. Penny was a female Urkel but at that age, a willing fuck was more priceless than good grades or immortality. When it came to fucking at that age, I followed all the rules like line-dancing, stiff and mechanical. Make out, squeeze titties over the shirt then under the shirt, fumble with bra, finger fuck under the pants while sucking titty, awkwardly take off pants like you've never had legs of your own for practice, then stick it in and come immediately. Then tell your friends. And one day I decided to add the extra step of eating the pussy into the dance. Same choreographed moves, only after removing the bra, you kiss your way down from tittie to vagina like hopscotch to eat the pussy and... then, BAM! -- in Penny's case -- stop abruptly just above the bellybutton when hit with a cunt-stink like Bhopal and Mardi Gras Sewage. Times six. Now it's time to quickly retrace my steps back up to her titty as though I was rewinding a VHS tape. Sure, I still fucked her but the fear of that vagina stayed with me to this day. I like pussy to smell & taste like chlorinated pool water and I've held that one bad experience against black women ever since. Cut To - Milwaukee last Tuesday (April 4) We play an off-night at a comedy club/money laundering facility underneath a topless bar in Milwaukee. VIP room upstairs after the show. A large yawn at this age, but what the fuck. A large portion of the Desert Party contingency has arrived for all over the country for this lineup and it seems like they should get some free tits for their trouble. A jumpy man takes me aside and -- accommodating my on-stage solicitation for drugs -- hands me a variety pack of pills. 2 Ecstasy (weak), 2 Xanax, 2 homemade Cialis and 2 Ritalin -- a Noah's lifeboat of narcotics. The X went first, then the Cialis for experimental purposes. Now back to over-socializing in a ugly arena until we could mobilize the troops to leave. On the way out, a black titty dancer leaving her shift asks me if there's an after-party. "Follow us", says I. In the parking lot I find her behind our car and she asks if I'd like more female company at the house. Fuck, yes, we would. Bring those off-duty pole-humpers with you. But then she gets on the phone to order two more girls with costumes, giving them the address of where we are staying. It takes a few drunken moments to get into our car and realize that I have not scored some titty-dancer fans but instead ordered prostitutes. We're drunk and cock-heavy. Let's not kibosh the deal until we see the other talent and then we'll decide. Back at Art's house I explain to her that we had miscommunicated, that I was under the impression that she was here for a party and not for business and that I believed my friends had neither the desire nor the finances to procure the female companions in question. She's cool and gets on the phone to cancel, only to find that they are already parked in front of the house. "Come with me," she says and we walk to the curb where every stereotype is sitting in a parked Cadillac. Two girls in the front -- and the pimp slouched in the back. I explain my misinterpretation and politely offer to pay the girls 50 bucks each just to dance a few dances to cover the trip. The pimp is more than happy and I stroll back in with my all-ethnic crew. Black People Like Me! The pimp's name is Sacramento Slim and he is as polite and affable as he is cliched. He had a black fur coat and a grill like Pootie Tang. He's not thuggish and becomes even less so when his main girl tells him we're the comedians. Perhaps Girls Gone Wild is what every pimp aspires to be. We try to get them to dance to Banjo Randy pickin' on the couch but we understand when they decline. Black girls and banjo music are like white girls and banjo music. We find a channel on XM that is purposely misspelled, and wouldn't you know it's hip-hop. Pimp's Gone Polite Pickin' and a Grinnin' Ghetto booty shakes in middle-class America Our main girl hated Andrist's act and calls him to the carpet literally, making him renounce his race on all fours as she beats him with a belt. The audiences in Appleton would not have believed him later in the week if he hadn't had the deep purple bruises on his back to prove it. One of Slim's girls is making the rounds in the living room jiggling her meaty ass as much as 50 bucks can motivate and a larger dose of better MDMA might have tempted me astray if it hadn't been for a strong scent of Penny drifting though her g-string and a foot away from my face. Appleton, WI "So you Texas boys think you can come up here and use Wisconsin as a urinal?" That is the quote Andrist hears when he comes out of the Appleton bar to find Rouse being put into the police car. Any other details to what happened previously, aside from the obvious, will never be known. Rouse certainly couldn't tell you. The aftermath is that Andrist and the Jew told the cops that Rouse is crippled and wasn't allowed to use the men's room in the bar, etc, and eventually Rouse gets off with a 186-dollar ticket and without them finding the weed in his pocket. Rouse tells the audience about the incident through the week, about how it's another example of the Patriot Act infringing on our freedoms, about the cop's quote about Texas boys using Wisco as a toilet and how, evidently, yes they could use it as a urinal -- for 186 dollars. "Everybody has their price," says Rouse. And the crowd probably thinks it's all a joke. "Yes officer, that is my urine. But, that shit was already there when I got here." We got a few complaints in Appleton. Some of the usual "you ruined our birthday party" nitwits and a couple that I could partially agree with. The show was too much. Too many acts, too much distraction, over-produced, if that's possible. We were taping a CD to benefit Hinty's stomach stapling and had friends from Minneapolis, St Louis, Austin, Tampa, Ohio, L.A. and Milwaukee there, on stage and off and a lot of it got sloppy. I'm no producer. Here's an exchange that resulted from a complaint email that I recieved. One that wouldn't have been happy with the show regardless. From: "felicia" <@@@@@@hotmail.com> To: Subject: APPLETON WISC Date: Sat, 8 Apr 2006 16:20:12 I JUST WANTED OT TAKE A FEW MINUTES OF YOUR TIME TO LET YOU KNOW HOW UNHAPPY I WAS AT YOUR SHOW AT SKYLINE ON THE 7TH OF APRIL. YOU GUYS WERE TERRIBLE. I NEVER EVEN LAUGHED (NOT EVEN SMILED TO MYSELF). I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU GUYS THINK YOU ARE FUNNY. I THINK YOU WERE GETTING LAUGHS FROM THE DRUNKS THAT WOULD LAUGH AT ANYTHING. YOU ALL HAD GOOD DELIVERY, TIMING AND GOOD CHARISMA ON STAGE. SO I DO THINK YOU WILL GO PLACES BUT YOUR ACT NEEDS WORK. THERE IS NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT 911. THE TSUNAMIE, ETC. THANKS FOR LISTENING, F My immediate reply -  Dear Felicia - Thank you very much for your e-mail. Your comments are taken very seriously and we happen to strongly agree with you on this matter. As you are probably aware, The Skyline Comedy Club provides us with scripts each time we perform to insure that we present a new "act" every show. We were shocked to see some of the material we were asked to recite last night and argued fruitlessly with management to change or completely remove some of the more offensive and risque parts of the monologues. We also do not like the fact that we are forced to act as though we are intoxicated just to increase alcohol sales, a practice implemented by many comedy clubs. I hope that you forward your thoughts onto the Skyline upper-echelon so as to bolster our own arguments. The fact that I am asked to poke fun -- even indirectly -- at 9/11 knowing that my friend Lynn Shawcroft -- also on the bill -- lost her brother-in-law in those tragic events is insulting to me as an actor. Please call Cliff or Pat at Skyline -- 920 734 xxxx -- and ask that we be allowed to go back to Thursday's script that dealt more with difficulties in relationships, Brokeback Mountain and Hooters restaurants. Subject matter that is more palatable to the audience, as well as ourselves. Your friend, Doug Stanhope And she writes back - I AM SO SUPRISED TO RECEIVE SUCH A WELL WRITTEN RESPONSE. I THOUGHT YOU WERE AN DRUNKEN IDIOT. (HA-HA) I CANNOT BELIEVE YOUR COMMENTS. IS THIS TRUE?? IS THIS THE CASE WITH ALL COMEDIENS/COMEDY CLUBS??? I KNOW PAT AND CLIFF AND I WILL CALL THEM. THANK YOU FOR NOT CALLING ME A C**T. I THOUGHT I WOULD GET THAT KIND OF RESPONSE. BECAUSE YOU ANSWERED SO ELOQUENTLY AND PROFESSIONALLY, THEN I CAN ASSUME YOUR WORDS AND THOUGHTS ARE TRUE. THANKS FOR YOU TIME AND GOOD LUCK F I posted this on Myspace and even a lot of people who commented didn't realize that I was kidding about being given "scripts". Fantastic. Austin at Club Deville (and Emo's on the night it rained - Deville is outdoors) was outrageous. Thanks for those who showed up and made it weird. My apologies to the 'Kinky Friedman for Governor' folks who came out. They were doing a petition drive and I told them I'd give them a plug onstage to help with the campaign and promptly forgot both nights. I did give an onstage plug, however, to congressional candidate and last year's Libertarian Presidential candidate Michael Badnarik. Difference being that Badnarik showed up for the show. Regardless, I support you both madly and without pants. The consequence of performing at an alternative venue in Austin is that -- as you can see on my schedule -- my Cap City dates for June were pulled. I assume this was a first-strike move, Cap City knowing that when I realized that I could make more on a door deal on a late-night Sunday/Monday gig than in a full weekend at their comedy club -- without all the rules and the stink-eye, that even with my poor business skills I'd cancel their date on my own. I'll still be in Austin that weekend in June. At Club Deville. Thanks, Austin. Other shit-cannings have sprung from the South Bend Funnybone incident. Clubs with personal or financial ties to the South Bend F'Bone pulled upcoming dates. The KC Improv, Tampa Improv and the Virginia Beach Bone dates now are cancelled. I'll be back in Tampa (location TBA) and KC has been sewn up at the Record Bar. The show there on March 30th with the Pornhuskers is something that no comedy club would ever allow under any circumstances. Point being, comics young and old, is that you don't have to wink at the dick of shitty club owners in order to work regularly and for the same or better money in whatever market you want to work. Nor do you have to allow them to tell you what is funny, appropriate or professional. Another huge bonus in working rock 'n' roll venues: I got to finally work with Neil Hamburger. Hamburger is an underground legend in stand-up who has one of the greatest, probably the only interesting "how'd you get started in comedy" stories that I've ever heard. Unfortunately, it's not mine to tell. The guy is absolutely brilliant and hopefully we'll be working together more down the road. Check his "unofficial" page here. http://www.americasfunnyman.com/ I'm amazed at the amount of people who've seen The Aristocrats. It was an honor to be a part of it. If you haven't seen it, get it here http://www.thearistocrats.com/ BUY IT NOW Some other shit is in the works -- there's always some shit in the works -- but the one I'm looking most forward to is The Baiting Book. Should be available by years end from my good friends at www.disinfo.com. Stay tuned. I still have another month on the road before I crash for a minute and head to Ireland. Check the dates and sign up for the mailing list. Myspace has been invaluable as far as reaching people but if it ever goes shitty, I need to be able to tell you where I'm gonna play. Take a second and do it. Oh, and I'll be doing Edinburgh in August - keep an eye out for the specifics. Renee in London! The wonderful and estranged Ms. Renee Morrison is in London doing a play called "Manson Family Values" which, ironically, she had to shave her head bald to do. If you're over there - please go see her and spread the word. She's fantastic. TICKET INFO : http://www.cptheatre.co.uk/event_details.php?sectionid=theatre&eventid=124&searchid=current

Beware the Ides of March

I think Caesar should have stuck with comment cards to hear the opinions of the people. His fuck-up. I always say keep your friends close and your enemies complaining to the manager. A month on the road and feeling far better than I should. I'll give credit to a relatively drug-free run, save for Cincinnati where we were drug-fantastic. Go Bananas is still one of my favorite clubs to work. Since then it's been mostly the usual anesthesia of USA Today and TGI Bennigan's.

USA Today is quite important to a comic. Yes, it's Fluffernutter but it's what America is being fed and that gives you the angle to come at them. There was a full page breaking down the 12 remaining American Idol contestants and this section is called "Life". I picture myself calmly loading a weapon. I picture that quite often.

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Working rock clubs or - in some cases - just dirty taverns has made me enjoy comedy again. Let me never again apologize for MySpace.

Since corporate radio sank into it's final abyss, clutching the FCC into it's baby-tight recta-phone, it's become nearly impossible to find my crowd through them. Most won't have me on anymore and the ones that do tend to make it all but impossible to convey even small, balled turd versions of my live performance.

Between Myspace and Satellite Radio (stop with your O&A vs Stern warfares, this is no time for party politics. So long as you have one or the other, you don't have the grim, terrestrial alternative), I can now draw my audience without having to get up at 6:30 am - still reeking of intoxicants and rugged vagina - just to annoy morning commuters with pointless government-approved versions of my banter.

XM or Sirius are must-haves. Even more cost-effective and important than HBO or Showtime. You can always buy the box-sets of Sopranos, Deadwood and Bullshit. You're in your car for hours every day. Spend the money.

BTW, XM came out again to tape a live perfromance from DC a couple weeks back. It will air March 24th at 10pm EST. It's 98 percent different than the one the did last year, meaning I fuck up a bunch of jokes but then again, thats where the fun is sometimes.

If you live in New Orleans that night, fuck the XM show - I'll be fucking up jokes right down the street at One-Eyed Jacks. I appreciate you spreading the word.

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Advice for new comics -

Besides the emails asking shit I don't know - what time the show starts, where to find good parking, etc (find Todd Barry's routine about this, fucking hysterical), the most common email is about starting out or coming up in this business.

There is no advice to give other than write jokes, perform them, suck, rewrite, repeat. That's it.

When you are good (or sometimes even when you aren't), you'll probably start getting work. I used to tell up n comers the usual bullshit. Send out tapes, be persistant, call the bookers repeatedly. Then I'd find myself working with acts that were unbearable to watch and ask the booker how he could have possibly done this to an audience. He'll tell me that the comic bothered him so much that he gave the guy a week just to shut him up.

So it was, in a way, my fault. I take that advice back. In fact, I never did much of that myself. Sure, I made some calls and sent some tapes, but mostly I just had fun doing comedy and people started asking me to work. There's no rules, do what seems right for you. Make your own rules. Club in town won't book you because you're dirty? Start your own gig at a local bar. But keep in mind, maybe that's just their excuse. Maybe it's because you're dirty AND you aren't very funny. Don't take my word on it. I'm no authority.

South Bend Funnybone and the Distasteful Rape of Babies

The bit is an old one but can be easily re-tooled to fit whatever business entity that has recently chaffed my bung. It was the first track on The Great White Stanhope: "Jizzed By Hertz." The bit explains the "raw deal" -- in that case, by Hertz Rent-A-Car. It goes on to say that just recounting the offense isn't enough to hurt their business and so, instead, I will just tell incredible lies about the institution. I then describe in graphic detail Baby Rapers and Terrorists how, after asking Hertz for an upgrade, they raped my baby. How they put it's head in a vice and made love to it's toothless mouth while pressing their thumbs into it's soft spot. It goes on and on.

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Mr. Rouse

Sean Rouse was booked last summer at the South Bend Funny Bone, unaware of the anal breach that awaited him. Rouse is one of the best comics working on this planet. Dark, evil, extraordinarily smart, relevant and adorable. He's a fuck-up, there's no defense. But he wouldn't need to fuck up to get pooned squarely by the South Bend Funny Bone. Sean performed his first show of the week to a handful of dolts, one of whom was a rape crisis counselor and took histrionic exception to Rouse's fantastic Kobe Bryant material. (The gist is that Kobe doesn't know how to rape a girl because he never went to college.) So the Rape-Crisis nancy-man goes into his fits, demanding satisfaction. And this weak-kneed puke of a comedy club manager reacts by firing Sean. That would be within her rights. Perhaps cunty, short-sighted, weak and repulsive, but still within her rights. Would be fine, I say, if she'd seen fit to pay him for the week. And if she?d had the courage to talk to him and tell him why. But she did none of these things.

In fact, this shit-bellied waste-hole even waited until AFTER Sean Rouse had crawled his failing body out of bed to do morning radio -- promoting a show that she already knew he wouldn't be part of -- before she delegated the task of firing Rouse onto one of her flunkies and hid out of site in her own trembling filth.

Sean Rouse had driven from Los Angeles, California, to South Bend, Indiana, to work this gig ( 2156.9 miles each way ). Sean Rouse is crippled with rheumatoid arthritis and has a difficult enough time being able to pay for his medication in a business this fickle, even when dealing with bookers who are honest and respectable. Now he is in the middle of the country, broke. He's stranded with no reason to be in such a state, fired for doing what he was hired to do -- his act.

Rheumatoid arthritis (rue-ma-TOYD arth-write-tis) Rheumatoid arthritis is a chronic disease, mainly characterized by inflammation of the lining, or synovium, of the joints. It can lead to long-term joint damage, resulting in chronic pain, loss of function and disability.  Discover more about this fascinating diseasehere.

He called me when it happened and it filled me with impotent rage. Flaccid in that I didn't know the club, the half-wit who runs it or even anyone else who had played there and might rectify the slight. It's not really in the stomping grounds of anyone outside the Etta May types. I went on with my life. But, I stored the hate.

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Bob and Tom have been very kind to me. Meaning, they know I'm not really a Bob and Tom comic, I know that I'm not a Bob and Tom comic and a good portion of their listening audience certainly knows that I'm not a Bob and Tom comic. But they have me on once in a while, regardless. I like that. It's quite a compliment.

The Friends of Bob and Tom Tour has been selling out in their markets for some time. They decided to try a "Twisted" version of the tour, featuring some of the dirtier comics, and they put me on the bill. Just a handful of dates to see how it went over.The first date: Madison, Wisconsin. The second: South Bend, Indiana.

Fantastic.

I take the stage in South Bend with my opening bit ready to roll. I simply replace "Hertz" with "South Bend Funny Bone," and we have several minutes of justice in front of a sold-out theater of local comedy fans. And these people don't care for rapin' no babies.

I knew full well that this would get back to the gummy twat at the hometown comedy rip-joint. What I didn't know is that she was in the audience. Right in the middle of 2,500 people screaming the name of the club that she incompetently runs.

(Transcript from show)  Doug:   "Who rapes babies?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone!!!" Doug:   "Who is responsible for the killing of 6 million Jews in World War II?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone"!!! Doug:   "Who murdered Natalie Holloway?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone!!!" Doug:   "No!!!", I say, "it was that judge's kid. But I bet I know where you can find the body: At the South Bend Funny Bone, under a stack of comment cards."

What a good feeling.

No, this doesn't get Sean Rouse the money he is rightfully due. But it felt fantastic to have the opportunity to call this woman a moth-eaten cunt (with the assist of a signer for the deaf translating it to my right on the edge of the stage, in case this worthless grifter had the gift of hearing repossessed by Jesus as cosmic payback) in a nest of her peers.

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At the merch booth, security guards flanked me on either side. And I was informed that the cunt I'd addressed onstage had in fact been present. They were now worried that some kind of situation might occur.

And I beamed.

"This is Ri-dic-u-lous," Hedberg would have said, laughing. The woman couldn't produce the fortitude to fire Sean Rouse to his face, finding some house lackey better suited for the job. I'm not worried about her knuckling up and turning over the CD table. Especially when she has no argument.

She is no different than a thief. She ripped off a cripple. She has absolutely no argument. Yes, I have spoken with comics who know her and actually like her and desperately wanted to defend her, but they couldn't. She is not only everything I have said, but she knows that it is indefensible.

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Epilogue...

The booker of the tour called to say that the other two Bob and Tom dates I had booked would be pulled. I have been fired. He talked in circles and never quite told me why:

"The Twisted tour is in it's infancy... Until we have a read on the market, blah, blah, blah..."

So I don't know. Was it that my verbal dressing-down of a paying sponsor of the local B&T affiliate that fucked my friend? Or, was it the simple fact that my brand of "Twisted" is still far beyond what a B&T audience is prepared for? Don't matter. The other two dates are gone, and that's OK. The booker needed to save his ass for whatever reason, I understand. Dates aren't something I'm short on and the best of gigs are worth losing to fight back for someone - one of us - who has been so blatently and unapologetically poop-dicked.

To think that I was unjustly fired for bringing direct and glaring light on the person who had my friend unjustly fired is kinda hilarious. And any comic who would do otherwise for the sake of a shitty date in South Bend, Indiana, is a worm-holed cunt who probably rapes babies.

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If you're looking for some top-rate stand-up CDs - I got two for you.

Todd Barry's latest "Falling Off The Bone" fucking destroyed me.

And, finally...after this long... the Andy Andrist CD - "Dumbing It Down For The Masses" has finally spilled off the assembly line and is here for mass consumption.

Buy 'em, burn 'em off and pass 'em around. The good ones can no longer count on the media to promote them. It's in your hands now, shit-beans. Sean Rouse product is still nowhere to be found, same with Rogan's latest - you're both comedy cockteases.

Stanhope in '08!