Australia

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, they say, and at the Vibe Hotel in Sydney, Australia it's also really fucking expensive. 22 dollars a head for the equivalent of what would be a free buffet at any Hampton Inn in the States. But when I threw up quite a bit of the runny eggs and bacon-fat into my mouth, I wasn't concerned about nutrition or money. I only wanted to make it down the long hallway to the bathroom before I let it go. There is nothing I can think of that makes your need to vomit more intense than having vomit in your mouth. So I started to speed-shuffle down the long art-deco hallway to the lavatory only to be stopped dead at the finish line by an elderly Asian man who couldn't tell push from pull with the mens room door. I nearly knocked him down coming over the top of him and shoving him out of the way.

Once done, I turned to apologize - tears streaming down my face and eyes bleeding from hangover, holding the steel rail of a puke-splattered handicap stall - but could tell by the stoic revulsion on his face that words would only make it all more uncomfortable.

The abstract condition of my head couldn't have helped the scene. The night previous - full to toxicity with beer and your friend Jager - I'd decided to shave my head before bedtime, as a man is in his right to do. Renee came into the bathroom to find I'd shaved the top part and - damage done - began helping with the rest. Too bad for me, the electrical current in Australia is double that of our own and before she could finish, my Made-in-America clippers blew out with a final bzzaaappp and puff of noxious smoke. One large patch and a few random chunks of the back of my head remained at their normal length then and still now the next morning in my vulnerable state. So how was Australia? It was like that. It was like being hunched over a public toilet, seahorse posture in your own sick, sporting a mohawkish cancer-mullet and desperately trying to break the language barrier through eye-contact and find sympathy in an aged stranger who moments before must have assumed you were trying to take his life. It was pretty good.

Sydney itself is a fine city, pleasing to the eye, overpriced with too much traffic and no real enemy or fat people. There are things to do if you're the type to do things that involve more looking at things for money than actual activity and I've never seen a cleaner city for the size.

Laws are seem lax and overbearing at the same time. You can say fuck on television, DUI is .05, prostitution is legal and there are speeding violation cameras on every other block. In fact, there were cameras everywhere, not unlike Vegas. This is bad if you care about privacy rights but good if you like grainy footage to go with your violent news broadcasts. Frivolous lawsuits are a part-time job and the taxes are the highest in the world. Customs announcements threaten that any food items brought through undeclared could lead to jail time, including candy or gum. From our room we watched junkies shoot up in the park, causing no concern to the joggers and the tourists.

Government has their finger in every meathole just like the U.S. and I don't know why I thought it would be any other way. You remember that it started as a prison colony. You forget a lot of those cocksuckers were wardens.

Next time, I'll go to the Outback. Darwin, Alice Springs, Koober Pedy. Sydney is nice but it isn't my kind of place. Sure, I'm judging by a half dozen bars and a trip to the zoo but the fact that I went to the zoo is proof enough. When I mentioned that we might go to Tasmania on our off-days, I was told by several people that that's where inbred - specifically "two-headed" - people live. They said it like it was a bad thing.

It isn't just lazy writing to call Sydney "nice" - that seems to be the overall feel, for better or worse. That doesn't always lend well to good comedy. There isn't the angst of the UK and it is far too Americanized to say anything anti-American without a sense of pandering to the same retard nationalism you are supposed to be attacking.

Again, the slump. Too tired of saying things you've said before and not having much new to say, the agony of forcing yourself to go through the motions on stage in the meantime, knowing you are being spotted as the over-rated fraud that you are, waiting for the next wave of inspiration. I never did hit stride in Australia. (Note - this isn't a desperate cry for help. Seems any time I say something negative like this, I get emails or phone calls from concerned friends thinking I'm falling apart. This is not the case. Sometimes you feel funny, sometimes you don't. I do not have a gun in my mouth. Relax.)

But I did laugh my ass off a lot thanks to Australian comic Mickey D, whose road stories make the rowdiest US comics - myself included - seem less than compelling. I saw some great Aussie comics, actually and met many more who I never got to see. I can't thank you guys enough for the support. Unfortunately, you'll never see them here as our immigration is as bent on barring a broader scope of culture from us as it is terrorists and housekeeping.

And special Thanks to Pete for bringing me over, Ant and Mandy, that one guy who gave me that AdBusters thing, the other guy, Simone and the angry girl, the sound guys and the one sound guys sound chick, the Kiwi guy who slept on our floor, the other guys who traveled great distance, the Viking-looking guy, the odd purplish-skinned insane person, The Glasshouse folks, The Powers That Be who kept the bar open late, the Melbourne folk, and...you know - fucking everyone.

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Hate Mail.

It's been light lately, but here's a couple.

From :  Sent : Friday, February 25, 2005 4:20 PM To : doug@dougstanhope.com Subject : Larry the Cable Guy Hey Doug, I just read your letter to the Cable Guy. Sounds like a buncha sour grapes to me!! Larry's got more talent than you'll ever have, you putz! **** n *****, radio morning show hosts on Omaha's *** read your letter over the air, then they talked to Larry on the radio. Unlike you, Larry took the high road and said you were a funny comedian and he can't help people yell GET ER DONE, at your shows. He should have said you're a no talent dick and a hack, that you are. You ran the Man Show into the ground so fast, Comedy Central wasted no time with you. Get a life you alcoholic.........and........................GIT ER DONE!!!! Tim

(Here is the update mentioned in the previous letter. ~Editor)

From the Desk of Doug Stanhope Hey Tim! Thanks for taking the time to email. That letter has been up on my site for months and you are the only one to respond negatively so I thought I'd take a moment to apologize for any misunderstanding. There you go defending Larry the Cable guy when I was attacking you, the vocal and semi-retarded portion of his fanbase. The ones that can't even fathom that Larry The Cable Guy is just an invented character, not unlike Jesus or Gomer Pyle. Like the ones who ruin a Dave Chapelle show by yelling "I'm Rick James, bitch!" instead of shutting their gape-holes and listening to the material. I have no problem with Larry the Cable Guy much less the human being that performs Larry the Cable Guy. You need only defend yourself for being human dogshit. Every time the Cornhuskers lose, you will hear me laugh at you. You won't be able to help it now that you've read this. I will never think of you again. (Note - If for some reason Larry has been offended, he may take satisfaction in that, shortly after posting that letter, I began having people yell "Show me where babies feed!" at my shows and have had to eat hypocritical pie.) Doug Stanhope

From : Christian Kramer  Sent : Saturday, March 5, 2005 1:06 AM To :  Subject : Man, your comedy sucks I'm almost glad you fucked up The Man Show, because now I don't have to watch a previously good show, just to see if the new hosts could be anywhere near as funny as the original hosts. I guess you're just one more of those comedians that "I just don't get." And there's not many that I don't get. But your success in comedy will tell the truth in the long run. In five years, if you're successful, and want to prove that I'm a dumbass, well, then you're welcome to do so. I bet you won't even be able to land a gig with Girls Gone Wild in five years. Chris Kramer Indianapolis, IN

From the Desk of Doug Stanhope Dear Chris, Thanks for finally getting your opinion out to me. The Man Show hasn't aired in almost a year, so I can imagine what kind of backlog you must have with your hate mail. The guys from Last Comic Standing 3 must be in for a drubbing next. Then Crossballs and Graham Norton. Man, I bet they're gonna feel the heat. But you are correct, time will be the ultimate judge. If in five years, I am scrounging around the internet trying to make my opinion of cancelled late-night cable shows heard, it will prove that I am a miserable failure. I'll bet in five years you'll still be coming back to this site to show people how one time a D-level, shit comic of limited notoriety recognized you publicly, just as you did today. Doug Stanhope

Costa Rica '05

Black Cock   pours cheap in Costa Rica, though I never touch the stuff myself. It made poor Renee have to excuse herself from the act of love to make sick but the cocaine didn't let that stop me from trying to finish. Not really a good coke environment, Costa Rica, in that there's no real point in staying up late - this is a town for sleeping. But they'd gone thru so much trouble to obtain the stuff - one of our crew got into a midnite beach brawl with the local drug dealer and his band of civil servants leaving Kevin knee-deep in diplomacy to restore ties to the only connection - that I felt it was only polite. The only damage to our boy was a sizeable bitemark where the Tico tried to "eat his way through" him. Good thing Art the Crusher had already gone to bed or we may have been obligated to take over a gap in the local drug trade. I had been missing for all the happenings, having spent a few days in an "undisclosed location". Now I'm glad that I can't be recognized as a trouble-maker. The Beckers closed a deal down there for us yesterday on 4 acres overlooking the ocean. We don't need the headaches. Now we just need a book or pamphlet showing us how to build a house. Noteworthy quote - "I don't remember falling down. But I remember bleeding Mack Frice on regret

Quite a turnout this trip - the Alaska contingent including but not limited to The Great American Hero fresh back from body-stacking in Thailand as well as the filthy uncut Scotsman, the Tampa Bay Lightning and those mentioned earlier. These are not the names that appear on their government issued IDs but you wouldn't know them anyhow. It was a pleasure seeing all of you with a hand over one eye to focus. You get to an age where even when you get good stories, you can't tell them because now most of the people involved have responsibilites or heavy stakes in the hand. What a great excuse youth used to be and we didn't even know it. West Nyak Rascals is supposedly on for Feb 17-21, although they are still not open at this writing and I can't seem to find any other information. Harrah's in Las Vegas has been moved to April 5-10. Other stuff is on the schedule. Did you get on themailing list? The new site will be up as soon as Redban gets done with his better paying shit. In the meantime, I'll be working on a book, satellite radio show, quitting smoking, more television, doing sit-ups, sobriety, yoga, new CD and DVD, and a few other things - just as soon as I get my shit out of the dryer. ~Stanhope

Dear Larry The Cable Guy,

Larry the Cable Guy

I don't know if we've ever met but my name is Doug Stanhope and I do stand-up comedy too! It's a crazy old bizness we're in, ain't it? Ohhhh goodness. Heh heh. Anyway, here's what I wanted to say... and I don't mean anything bad, see, but... I mean, I'm good friends with that Ron White fella and I think he's one of the funniest guys in the industry. I just think that...

*phew* (puts hand on shoulder and lowers voice)

It's just that, you know me and some of the other guys out there on the road have been having problems

with this (pauses and squints) ... "Git Er Done" thing. I mean, no one can blame you for taking the Wal-Mart approach of appealing to the absolute stupidest, water-brained Velveeta cheese flag-monkeys on the planet - no offense - but what you've gone and done is given them something to *say*. Out loud.

Are you getting me, Larry? (It is ok if I call you Larry? Great.)

You see, all of us road comics have to perform for these same nutlogs that enjoy your act. We go in, drink all the courage we can find and try to fulfill our contractual obligation. But until you came along, these people were usually too bereft of thought to ever speak out, save for the occasional Yee-Haw. Now, you went and gave em a catch-phrase to scream. At anytime, even when - especially when - it doesn't even make any sense. Do you see why we needed to talk to you about it?

It used to be that you could use pause as a tool to enhance the timing and effectiveness of a bit. Now it's the moment Gavin has been waiting for all week - to bellow out all the knowledge that you've impregnated him with - "Git Er Done!"

He doesn't even know what it means or why he's sayin it! Larry, I'm sure you're a great guy and all but please, you have to make this stop. I don't know how you stop it but - I mean, seriously - these people are puddle-noggins. These people laugh at commercials for car insurance. Surely you can make em stop repeating your mantra.

Here's an idea. Die. Hang on, hear me out. If you were to Die Tragically, then people would stop saying it. I mean, since they think that "Git Er Done" is "comedy", they would have a false sense of reverence about reiterating that in a comedy atmosphere if you had tragically passed on to Jesus. Same way a NASCAR fan would never jokingly yell "Dale Ernhardt" if you were doing a joke about bad drivers.

Listen, captain, I'm not saying I'm better 'n you. I've been out there on Whore Street before myself. Sure I only did it here and there. I don't yet have keychains, toddler wear and foam beer coozies on my website yet. But whoring, I have done. I did the Man Show and I didn't even have kids to feed. They had a catch-phrase too and the fucking tomato-headed fans waited like fat children with full bladders to hear it.

It went "Ziggy-Socky, Ziggy-Socky, Hoy Hoy Hoy!" and then their gaping mouths would open like urinals for their prize of beer.

But we put a stop to that shit. Even though we milked a few extra dollars out of that pig by keeping it alive another year, at least we refused to keep that moronic catch-phrase alive. Imagine if every time you took a sip off your drink on stage, you were barraged by Ziggy-Socky, Ziggy-Socky - like trained apes banging verbal cymbals together on cue? You'd want me dead, too.

Like I said, I don't know you and I haven't seen your act but I do know that 1,000 comics curse you nightly for inadvertently training these albino trailer-parrots to ruin our shows much the way Nazis trained dogs to eat Jews, no offense to German Shepards.

I hope this in no way offended you, it's just, you know, it get's a little old for me and the boys hearin it all the time. Hey, I've taken up enough of your time and I know your busy. I hope you have a great New Year and say Hello to Ron for me. Alrighty then.

G'nite.

stanhope