Back To Work

I have cancelled the Glasgow Comedy Festival due to The Man Show shooting schedule but will still be keeping the Charlotte and Peoria dates. Have also added Tommy Rockers for my birthday. For the second time in three weeks I'm flying over to the UK to do one show and fly right back out, this time to Glasgow to do ten minutes for some BBC show. Since I had to cancel the Glasgow Comedy Festival dates later in the month, I figured I'd squeeze this in. The first class air on Virgin Atlantic helped the decision. These motherfuckers have a regular bar and massages in first class. Heck, I'll do the handjob myself. Aspen was the same industry hoo-ha it always is but I got to meet Phil Hendrieand he's cool as fuck. Rogan destroyed the place and I missed some final night hijinx but the whole thing was an extended hangover with some snowmobiling worked in. I'll get pictures up soon.              Photographer Chris Saunders. Check out this guys work        http://www.cmsaunders.free-online.co.uk Mother needs her breast implants taken out ( I think she realizes she doesn't really need them anymore and they're beginning to turn hard and hurt) so buy my shit or send me a large sum of money. Otherwise I'll have to wait until I get a fan that does tit work and wants to trade out. NOTICE! I had to cancel my upcoming Houston date at the Laff Stop. I'll be going to Aspen with Rogan to promote the Man Show in some fashion. All my other dates are tentative until I know the shooting schedule so make sure to check back before you go running off to the club. Nothing makes leaving the country suck worse than that last stop coming back through US Customs. Every time I swear I'll never leave again, at least not on a round trip ticket. 13 hours on a plane from the UK and I have the cigarette dangling from my lips, lighter in my shakey hand only to hit the line at customs like it was Saturday night at the Viper Room with whispers that Johnny Depp is inside. Big Velvet Rope. You don't even want in but you have to because all your shit is in there. After the line you hit the Nazi who small-talks you, looking for signs of weakness. Problem is - if you're not social, if you don't ass-kiss, you get searched. And I really need a cigarette. 27 hours in the air to do one 80 minute show. By the time I got on stage, I hadn't the slightest clue what I was saying. So I just talked until my watch said it was time to leave, drink some beers and get on a plane home. Thanks to those who showed up and tolerated the jet-lag and lack of ambition that I call comedy. Sorry, I missed the war protests, it could've made for good fun. "No blood for duct tape!" or some such mockery. Man, am I tired. Towns for sale on eBay keep making the news. Lemme know when there's a country for sale. I know a bunch of us who could all kick in and make it a great event.

Deal is Done

I just got the call from Joe Rogan who tells me it's now a done deal. We are the new hosts of The Man Show on Comedy Central. More when I get the details.

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A scrotum is supposed to have wrinkles, right?

Mine does not anymore and I'm starting to worry. 12 days after the vasectomy my balls continue to grow like nuclear tomatoes.

Hard lumps have developed, one flucuates between the size of a large seeded red grape and a small egg and the other bigger than a peice of Double Bubble bubble gum.

My hypochondria wanes with drink and vicodin and then races back with a fury when getting a morning eye-load of the monstrosity that is my sack, ballooning like the fat kid from Willy Wonka.

They say to wait 72 hours and I'd love to meet the superhero who would want to jack off three days after this shit. It took me a week before I allowed myself to blow a load and then did so squinting like a girl at a scary movie, expecting blood and stitches to fly out of me.

Sure, I should go back to the doctor. But I'm on the road and I don't like doctors. Doctors started this shit. Probably sewed up a half dollar in there as a goof. I prefer to exhaust all the home remedies before I zip down to the man with the scalpel. Heating pads, ice packs, hot bath, chicken soup, tylenol, Jagermeister, hystrionic weeping, prayer, Celebrex, sensory deprivation, leeches, acupuncture, laying on of hands and/or feet, vicodin, voodoo, flotation tanks as well as fresh air and Gold Bond Medicated Powder. If none of these work, or if the seams of my sack start to tear from the pressure, then I'll see about going back to the good doctor.

In the meantime, I will continue to pull out my balls at the bar with timid cupped hands to horrify my friends and family.

The Hinden-Bag.

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me bitter.

My Balls

You never realize how many body parts attach to your balls until you have them surgically mutilated. I changed my mind 100 times in the hour before I left, even stopping the car on the way when reading parts of the pamphlet I’d been given. “Infrequently, a patient may experience pain around the testicles up to 20 years after the vasectomy.” 20 years??? What exactly does “infrequently” mean? As a gambling man, I’d like some more specific odds making. “Very rarely, a small blood vessel may enter the scrotum and form a clot. A small clot will probably dissolve over time but a large one can be painful and usually requires reopening of the scrotum for drainage. This procedure requires hospitalization and a general anesthetic”. Still I managed to make myself show up. The vasectomy itself, as they told me, wasn’t “painful” - in the sense that it didn’t hurt hurt. But it was certainly one of the most all-around uncomfortable experiences of my life, just in knowing what is happening and the anticipation of what it could and should feel like. I could not feel much of anything save for the needle that delivered the local anesthetic and then just barely. Had I felt anything like it just walking down the street it would barely warrant a quick scratch but I wasn't on the street. I was splayed out in a doctors office with my prepped and disinfected lunch being cut open, pulled apart rewired and stitched up and I knew it.

So I laid back, ate Fritos, made some calls on my cell phone and made as many jokes as I could, all of which fell on deaf ears. I guess he’d heard em all. After the shot, I don’t have the slightest idea what happened down there. I’d just look at Renee’s expressions of barf-bag horror and assume the worst. Ask any Wallenda and they’ll tell you - Just don’t look down. I told him he could take some extra scrot-skin to make eyelids for burn victims. Nothing. Honey took some pics but the doc wasn’t brimming in his humor and we certainly didn’t want him to be shaky-handed. Product Placement

I was about to call Rogan and have him talk me through it “Fear Factor” style but by the time I thought of it, it was done. I was bid farewell and ran into the world like a hero. No bed rest for me. I felt just fine. Let’s go run some errands. Shortly after leaving the Spy Store where I picked up gear for an upcoming project, I realized the reason I had felt so good. Anesthetic, stupid. Anesthetic wears off, stupid. By the time I got home I was walking like I just rode a spastic, bony horse bareback in an all-day rodeo. And it just got worse as the day went. Like blue-balls with stitches and I hadn’t even thought to ask for pain-killers. Scrot-skin eyelids

I took my last Xanax and drank a six pack. Sleep is the best pain-killer there is but I couldn't sleep. I couldn't do anything because, as I said, your balls are connected to everything. They are connected to your stomach muscles and your leg muscles and your lungs. You can't laugh or cough or yell and I prayed to Gods that I don't believe in against getting a boner. Don’t sit up or sit down or push a piss. Just let it dribble Today, the day after, I walk like an old man and it’s better - more of a mental thing than anything but not what any leper would call comfort. They say to soak in a warm tub and I say eat a dick and give me Vicodin and they do. Honey’s going to pick up the scrip and I sat down to take my first shit since the knifing. Afraid to push my ugly lunch too far between my legs, I ended up pissing all over my sweatpants. Now I’m going to soak in a warm tub and think about what a great story this would be to tell my children one day.

Tampa Bay made my day but I got fucked on the wager, betting the under 44, so buy my CD or the DVD or simply send me 631 dollars via PayPal. Dave Fulton and Henry Phillips made it down to the bar to watch the game, as well as a halftime appearance by Extreme Elvis who was in town to do a private party. He was in a kind mood and did not urinate on anyone. Sign the mailing list. I'm considering doing a barnstorming run this summer and just crashing towns across the country, playing whatever bar has a stage. The more people I have from your town, the more likely I'll show up there. Spread the word. Pass the CD's and DVD around.   Half Time Show