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Epilogue To Sicko

Thanks for listening to SICKO. SICKO was taped live in November of 1998 at the Laff Stop in Houston. It was actually my second CD. The first, THE GREAT WHITE STANHOPE was done through Uproar records in 1997 and was an all-around steaming piece of shit. I had no hand in the producing of the first album and it suffered as a result. SICKO is what the first album was supposed to be and it includes all of the better material from that album. The majority of the material on SICKO you won’t hear me do on stage anymore.

I’m working on my new album to be taped in May of 2000.Stay tuned. In the meantime, here’s some interesting facts, insights and updates regarding SICKO, track by track..

First is the only credit I forgot to put on the CD and that is the voice introducing me. That, ladies and gentlemen, is Sean Rouse of Houston, one of the funniest new comedians I’ve worked with ever.

NO HOLDS BARRED. If you hear me opening with this chunk of material anymore, you know I’m playing scared. Not that I don’t think it’s funny but to hear body piercing jokes today is as easy as (insert euphemism here).

MOM. Mom, while no longer living with me, still lives off of me. I’ve moved two apartments down in the same building, so she can shuffle in four or five times a day for no particular reason. I still can’t jack off without someone standing lookout. Mother is like a stalker girlfriend that I have to support financially. She tried her hand at stand-up comedy but quit before she was forced to stop by Amnesty Int’l.. She’s getting into acting and actually doing quite well. Watch for her in an upcoming Suburu commercial, and watch for me pissing all over myself not having to pay her bills that month. Two of the cats have died with one on it’s way out. That will leave only four to go.

SOMEONE’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED. A true story about following Jason Stuart into the St.Louis Funnybone condo. I told Jason about the bit and he didn’t seem overly amused. Either way.

FUCKIN TRUCKERS. This bit was absolute therapy when I drove to most of my gigs. If you can’t do the speed limit, get off the fucking road. I stopped doing the bit when I started flying everywhere. I can’t drum up the necessary anger to do it anymore but thought it belonged on the CD for those listening on the road. A CB radio is always nice to have too, so you can tell them when they’re driving like cunts.

ECSTASY. The only bullshit story on the CD. It actually happened in Sacramento and there was no melon involved. I’d done ecstasy once around 1988 and had the best time of my life but could never find it again until 1993 or 94 when I was working at Knuckleheads in Sacramento and met a guy who had some. I was so excited that I took it on the spot, ignoring the fact that I had no one to talk to, much less get touchy feely with. So I went back to the condo, burned out my prepaid calling card and then masturbated in the most inventive and shameful of ways. I changed the bit to Alaska out of respect for the small group of friends that I still do Ecstasy with every year at Christmas, about the only time I do drugs at all anymore. And in a controlled environment with the proper planning, X is the one drug to do when you’re doing only one.

FOR THE MAN WHO HAS EVERYTHING. True story. Stuck my dick in a lot of other sex toys since. Rubber Vagina, Life size latex head with open vibrating mouth (another gag-gift, this one from comic Tim Mitchell), a blow up doll. Save your money. None of them work. You’ll just end up jacking off the old fashioned way and feeling dirty in the morning.

THE PERFECT GIRL. The perfect girl you may know as Khrystyne Haje or as Simone, the character she played on the t.v. show Head Of The Class. We finally broke up for good in July of 99 and she’s now living with some unemployed scientologist.We are still good friends and I still talk to her occasionally when she can sneak away from him and use the phone (he’s a tad jealous).And she wasn’t completely perfect. She may have been one of People Magazines 50 Most Beautiful people but she had an ass that couldn’t get day shift in a bad tittie bar. (only trace bitterness)

TITS ARE ILLEGAL. A bit that I still do frequently, as it is a subject (vice laws) that I’m very passionate about. Maybe that’s why I’m always whipping my dick out in public. But then again, probably not.

SMOKE THIS! Smoking is the only thing I’ve done that I can really say that I regret. I quit and made it 12 days at New Years but I’m right back up to two packs plus a day. And I will continue to hate non-smokers until I can finally become one of you. Pricks.

TERRIBLE PIECE OF ASS. I’ve since tried Viagra and it cures whiskey dick like a finger in the ass could only dream of. And you can order it right out of those ads in the sports pages. They ask you a couple of medical questions, bang your credit card and in a few days, as Captain Rowdy says “you can drink a bottle of formaldehyde and still knock a hole in a tree with your dick”. I strongly recommend it.

THE BANANA LADY. Absolutely true. And still working as far as I’ve been told. I’m scheduled to go back there in June 2000 and will check in on her.

SICKO. Yes, I fucked a midget. And it was a midget, not a dwarf. Midgets are proportionate although I still call dwarfs midgets, too. I met her after a show at the Knuckleheads in Phoenix and took her out drinking. We ended up at her place but were far too drunk to even bother trying so we just passed out. The next morning I woke up and looked at her and thought “Well, I’ve come this far just to get the story...”. So I fucked her in that on-our-sides-from-behind morning position so there’s no morning breath involved. It was pretty icky. She had no hips and little prepubescent nub titties, so it looked like fucking an awkward ten year old boy. I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re in love.That was around 1992 and I remember her name was Linda.

THE TRANSVESTITE HOOKER INCIDENT. Again, true down to the dialogue. What can I say?

BIG DICK DREAMS. My brother is the only one I know other than myelf that commonly has these dreams. Maybe it runs in the family. It’s not Martin Luther King’s dream but it still sucks to get woken up from.

$5. All right. Maybe it was one true story too many. But you gotta close on something. All in all I like the way it came out. A little too rushed, maybe. I think I say “ya know” more than I say “fuck”. The next album will be a little less frenetic. But it will be just as honest.

My new girlfriend has given me shit about claiming such brutal honesty but exaggerating on how small my penis is. My penis is about 5 and 3/4 inches whilst erect, depending on how much I’ve had to drink.

There, now I’ve cleaned the slate. Thanks for listening.


Apology to David Rothenberg

So, I’m at the Improv in L.A. one night, half in the bag and waiting for my late night spot in front of the twenty or so tired people left in the audience.

I’m sitting in the back with a few friends when I notice a guy at the table next to me wearing a WW1 style leather aviators cap with the goggles on the top.

At first glance he appears to be a hundred years old but then I realize he’s not old, he’s a burn victim. I’m’ not talking about a hot cup of coffee in the groin, either. There was nothing left of this kid, no digits, no features.

It’s my turn on stage and, as the MC introduces me, the entire group of twenty people left in the front of the room decide it’s time to go home. They’re all walking out as I get to the microphone and, without thinking, I yell “Hey, you can’t all leave now! The only person left is the burn victim in the aviators cap and the only reason it looks like he’s laughing is ‘cause he’s got no lips!”

Needless to say, it didn’t get a laugh, along with the rest of my set, and when I got off stage the manager read me the riot act. Evidently this kid, who was a regular at the Improv, walked out crying. It turns out that this is the same kid who made national news back in the early eighties when his father set him on fire in a hotel room to get back at his mother.

I tried briefly to defend myself, saying that anyone who doesn’t want to draw attention to themselves doesn’t walk around wearing a leather skull cap with goggles, especially in a comedy club. If you’re going to show your tits at a Stones concert, be ready to fuck the band.

Had he laughed, that might have made it all right. But he didn’t laugh. He cried and for that I’m an asshole and I apologize.

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