Bobbie Barnett and Baseball

If you don't know the "Bobbie Barnett" story from my "Something To Take The Edge Off" CD, you should listen to it before you read further.

Click Here To Listen

Click Here To Purchase

Now, onto the e-mail...

See the e-mail here

From: Bobbie ******* (Bobbie*******@xxx.com)
Sent: Mon 5/24/10 7:19PM
To:   doug@dougstanhope.com


I can NOT believe that you did an entire section of your stand up about me!!!  Do you REALLY think my husband wants to hear this crap?! Seriously!  I am a born again Christian & this is NOT the type of stuff that I want floating out there about myself!  Do you know how many people I have run into that have heard this?  I am humiliated & you are NOT the type of person I would hang out with & by you going around spewing this type of stuff just proves what type of loser you are & that this is the type of stuff that is private & not something that should be part of your stand up!  THANKS a lot - I should sue your ass...just not cool nor funny!

 

The previous "Bobbie Barnett"...

Bobbie!

Of all the people I've known over my life, you have remained in the number 2 "Where Are They Now" spot for long time , only behind the girl I married in a drunken stupor in Las Vegas in 1986 after only knowing for two weeks.

I'll save that story for another time - perhaps when she emails me with a subject line similar to your "Ass Hole."

First of all, I decided to respond here for your privacy in case your husband goes through your email. He's been through enough. I can't imagine what it would be like if my rational, adult girlfriend found out that I'd had sex with somebody previously. So let's keep it in the pseudo-secret landscape of this website until he comes to grips - through the Lord.

Sorry to hear that your correspondence is not a joyful one. The story I told about you was one of beauty and how difficult beauty is to grasp for any length of time. Yours was the object of beauty that stayed with me - over any sunset or mountain top. I apologize if that upsets you due to the seedier specifics.

Regardless, that story happened in the early 90's and I recorded it in 1999. Since then I have rarely repeated it. It does however remain on my "Something to Take The Edge Off" CD which receives a lot of airplay on satellite radio stations.

At this point, it's the number one download track on iTunes from my entire 20-year comedy career.

Don't worry though, I'm not real popular in Born Again circles. If you run into a lot of people who know the story, you are running astray from the flock. Or maybe God put you in those people's lives in order to save them. Just don't bet against them under any circumstances.

But I'm sure that I wasn't your only story like that, there's other jagged skeletons underneath the canvas on your apple cart and it's those stories that probably drove you to the Loving Arms of Jesus.

So, in a way, I kinda helped save your soul, no?

If it helps, I screwed up a few facts - evidently Mo Vaughn only hit an RBI to kick off the comeback and the score was off by a run or two. This might help God's decision to clear your name if he listens to Raw Dog on Sirius/XM. I'll look like a liar.

My point is that I never disparaged you in any way. In fact, you came out of the story as the hero. I'm not some Tucker Max blowhard or Joe Francis whose entire, wax-thin characters are built on glorifying the spent cartridges they've spilled on the backs of the women they denigrate.

Not that I haven't been a shitheel many a time and told a story about it. Just that at those times, I try to make myself and my errors the focal point of the story.

If you hold stories of any personal sexual experience as sacrosanct and "private," then maybe you shouldn't wager your pussy on a baseball game with a comedian that you met whilst drunk the night before. Sex to me is as hallowed as having breakfast or sneezing (moreso perhaps if you sneezed onto or into someone.)

The story is about overcoming societal norms that restrict one's self-esteem. Girls like you don't fuck guys like me, as you've repeated in your email 16 years later.

But - as the story goes - you did. You fucked me, Bobbie Barnett. You fucked me, and a 1000 repo-men with a 1000 tow-trucks can never take that back.

Not with an email. Not with a lawsuit.

If your husband left the hand of Christ, lost his path and decided to murder me in my sleep, it wouldn't get my signature out of the guest-book of your vagina.

I only knew you a week? A couple months? I can't put any accurate time-frame together.

I know I think of you every time I think of Knuckleheads at the Mall of America - I remember telling the story for the first time while we were there together, although it wasn't written out for stage, only riffed to tell people what just happened.

You laughed and played the
"OhMyGodICan'tBelieveYouSaidThat"card while you loved all the

attention and feigned embarrassment.

I think of you every time I hear "Hey Jealousy" by Gin Blossoms.

You may have punched me in the face the last time I saw you at a sports bar - maybe it was St Louis Park and maybe it was only a slap - during a Vikings game. I was a dick and pointed out a small rash of pimples in your cleavage. It wasn't a big deal. It's just all I remember other than the story.

It was really fantastic to hear from you. Believe me, there are girls who I'd love to find or hear from that actually deserve apologies. But me n you, we were just young with egos and hair products and we fucked like one fucks in those situations - only our happenstance was funny.

Maybe you still root for the Twins and I still occasionally cheer for the Red Sox.

So - in the name of Jesus Christ - let's heal old wounds and find some common ground. I will never have anything as silly as a Jesus and I guess you'll never have a sense of humor for dumb shit we did when we were young.

So how bout we leave it on this and go away friends.

Fuck the Yankees.

stanhope

FUCK THE YANKEES*

 

Now available, exclusive FUCK THE YANKEES baseball jerseys in 100% cotton, as modeled by Bingo, Doug and Bingo's anonymous sister.

25.00 plus 4.99 shipping - orders begin shipping Tuesday, June 1st.
Limited run, order now.

OUTSIDE USA - 15.00 shipping - because its expensive and a pain in the ass.
Available sizes: M (as seen in pic), L, XL, XXL.XXL is 29.99 - fat fuck surcharge.

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE

*This product is intended to show disdain for the Northern forces in the American Civil War

Gigs in 2010

Here's an open response to about 1,000 emails or Facebook/Myspace comments a day that usually start to the tune of "Hey fuck-faggot, when are you gonna play my shitty town?

Here's a quick list of what we are working to book for the rest of 2010.

Minneapolis, Madison, Florida, Nashville, AZ, SoCal & SF, New Orleans, Philly & Pittsburgh, Indy, Boston, St Louis, DC/Baltimore, and Raleigh. There won't be any more UK or European dates this year.

I just added Las Vegas for Aug 20th so if you don't see your town above or on the current schedule, pack your orthopedic undergarments and road trip, you fucking apes.

You know you were just looking for an excuse.

Austin Incidental

Every time I get back from Austin I feel like I'm on the precipice of an untimely and shameful death. I've come to expect it. Neighbor Dave didn't have the same road history so when, after the flight to Tucson and the 90 minute drive home to Bisbee, he still felt like there was an alien partying under his breast-plate, he did what lots of people with health insurance might do and went straight the the ER.

I updated about Neighbor Dave before the road trip HERE.

 

We met Dave and his wife Evelyn several years ago when they lived right next door (they've since bought a house a few blocks away.) Bingo and I were ripped out of our sombreros day-tripping with Tom Rhodes and Jobi when we decided we HAD to have pizza.

Nobody was in any condition to work a cigarette lighter much less drive a car and nobody in town delivers no matter how much we tried to bribe them over the phone. There isn't even a taxi here. It was around dinner time and I decided that the best thing to do would be to walk down to the main road and wave money at passing cars until somebody picked us up. 

It seemed very reasonable in the moment. But as soon as I got outside of the fence, I was in a completely foreign and unsafe world where arrest was as imminent as pizza was necessary. We should definitely not stand on the roadside dressed like idiots flapping cash at traffic.

Just then Dave pulled up in front of his house. We'd never met Dave and Evelyn aside from a nod and a wave when we were both checking the mail at the same time. This neighborhood is more quiet than still-birth with the glowing exception of our house where it wasn't uncommon to have a full slate of comics and other friends hopped up for days without end or a then-bald and poorly medicated Bingo wandering down the street naked talking on a cordless banana. 

We just assumed that neighbors would probably not like us much. I introduced myself nonetheless. 

"Excuse me... I know this might sound weird but um... we're fucked out of our heads on mushrooms right now and we really need a pizza. We'll give you 50 bucks to go to Bisbee Beverage and pick one up for us. Hate to ask but no one here should really be driving."

Dave smiled like the Saturday Evening Post. "Oh, that's alright, you don't have to pay me. That's what neighbors are for!"

Not long after, Dave came back with Evelyn and pizza and we shared beer and stories and have been the best of friends ever since.

Cut to: Neighbor Dave and Stanhope do Texas.

Dave told me he'd love to come on the road sometime when he had vacation just to see what it was like. It just so happened that his time off lined up with my Houston & Austin dates - favorites of mine without question.

Evelyn couldn't get out of work to come - if she had it might have toned down the three-day trip enough to save Dave and excruciating hospital stay and invasive exploratory heart procedures. But hindsight is 20/20 no matter how much of it you blacked out.

Houston went by smoothly enough after a day of airport drinking - my favorite place to drink, expenses be damned and we got to Austin with only a mild hangover in time to do the Alex Jones radio show.

I haven't seen Alex since the infamous night of the "Austin Incident" many years ago, still probably one of my favorite shows ever caught on tape. Alex Jones is just a vague rational thought ahead of David Icke in the world of frenzied, paranoid conspiracies shot at you like a Gatling gun of Armageddon. 

Neighbor Dave is the antithesis of Alex Jones. Dave has no political or religious affiliations, no cares about the government, pro or con, much less an overwhelming fear of a coming police state or FEMA prison camps.

Alex was in full fever pitch when Bingo, Dave and I got to the studio. New World Order secret eugenics plots, insidious government schemes to tamper with inoculations, Obama being a secret construct of Mitzi Shore whose real name is Ned-something and is really German and Honduran... all like a PowerBall hopper of seemingly disconnected conspiracy blasted out in an enema of fear.

Shortly before, Dave had given us a short synopsis of his American Idol prognostications without irony or passion. Having the two of them in the same room was like having Timmy from South Park visit Abu Ghraib.

The Irresistable Madness vs the Immovable Apathy.

I lean on the side of Dave. As much hate as I may have against the powers that be, the more aware I am of my mortality, the more enjoying my day comes before changing the world. 

If MLK had just found a few like minds and fell into the cracks away from these douche-rockets who claim the majority of the planet, he might still be alive and fucking white women.

Some people are actually enjoying their day. Dave is like that. Dave could listen to 1,000 hours of Alex Jones with his eyes held open like Clockwork Orange and still die happy.

He thought he might after three days in Texas.

After Alex Jones, we went to the Yellow Rose for happy hour - two must-see attractions in Austin. Dave was out of money quickly but even a man of his considerable width will not leave the Rose sober if Don King is in the house. DK is an Austin legend and poured shots until we had to beg for a cab.

What DK couldn't do to Neighbor Dave on Friday, the audience made up for on Saturday. They'd even put Neighbor Dave on the poster under "Special Appearance by..." - an appearance he made several times to giant screams of applause.

After the show he was signing titties & t-shirts, taking pictures with folks and generally roaming the roost like a big, round Hugh Hefner of the Average Joe.

I don't think I've ever seen even a comedian have that much fun after a show.

Our flight was early and Bingo and I didn't sleep - staying up with Monkey n Meatsticks and the rest of the gang until it was time to leave. Neighbor Dave slept an hour or two and looked like a hemorrhaging plague on the wake-up call.

Nobody talked much on the way home, on the plane or in the car since we all felt raped and unpleasant. We were only a few miles from town when Dave spoke up quietly that his chest hadn't felt right since he woke up and that it might be safe to stop by the hospital before we went home.

Evelyn took the rest of the day off and stayed with him while they ran tests, decided to send him back to Tucson and keep him overnight for more tests before finally sending him home with a diagnosis of Too Much Fun on a Fat Stomach. 

I know. This update would have been a lot more fun if Neighbor Dave died at the end. Don't think there wasn't a little tiny chunk of me that thought the same thing. He did get an extra week off from work and has made Evelyn crazy listening to the stories from the road.

Evelyn made good use of our time away by completely redecorating our bathroom in a children's theme with cartoon penguin towels, bath mat and shower curtain, sippy-cups, kiddie potty seat and 25 toy boats for the bath tub as well as a good-touch, bad-touch kids book called "It's MY Body!"

I just got back from Montreal where I couldn't walk outside to have a cigarette without someone putting a key under my nose or a pill in my pocket and - fuck yes, it was a great time. This week I'll have Bingo and I will have fun with Evelyn and Neighbor Dave cooking shit in crock pots, walking the dogs and watching Idol to see how Dave's predictions turn out.

It all balances out and we'll all be dead in the end.