From Others: Jenee's Road Story

Doug and I worked together at the Punchline in Sacramento and were joined by our friend Henry Phillips, a fantastic guitarist and hilarious comedian. Henry happened to be in the area performing at a wedding (and really, if tunes like "The Bitch Song" and "Jerkin' Around" aren't appropriate at a wedding, where are they)?

After the show, we head around the corner to a little karaoke joint where Doug knows the bartender who must get a bonus from the Jaegermeister people for unloading so much of it.

At the point that I'm called a pussy for not doing a seventh shot, Henry takes his cue and asks if he can borrow my cell phone. I let him and he proceeds to make a long call to somebody in Texas. Because that's what comics do when they're together: find ways to screw each other over.

Properly inebriated, we take our turns on the mike. On this particular night, I'm wearing a red wig and belting out my best Britney Spears on top of the bar. I jump down for my big finale when Doug walks over and yanks the wig off my head. He puts it crookedly on his own head and looks like he's 20 years too late for a "This is Spinal Tap" audition. Doug then performs his infamous rendition of "I am Woman," which, of course, ends with his pants around his ankles. Even with the shaggy do, Doug manages to get a heavyset middle-aged woman to slow dance with him on the next song and he looks like he's in love. Despite his persistent attempts, he can't get the woman to french kiss him.

Perhaps inspired by the way drouping trou landed Doug a lady, Henry pulls out his own two inches of silly putty and asks how he measures up. I tell him to chub up a little bit and return for reevaluation. He spends the next hour or so working on it, finally blaming his poor showing on the Jaeger. I don't know what it is with comics exposing themselves but I've had quite a few whip out their dicks in front of me in public. Maybe they're hoping that once I see it I'll think "I MUST have that!!" like a cute pair of shoes.

Around 3 am, we start our trek back to the hotel in the torrential rain with Doug still wearing the wig. We see some shopping carts and Doug decides we need to take them with us. So Doug and Henry each grab a cart. I opt to ride in Henry's. We go about 30 feet when Henry hits a bump and I fly from the cart. You can't help but stop and think about what you're doing with your life when you're stinking drunk, wet and you've just fallen out of a shopping cart into a puddle of polluted rainwater. As quickly as Doug decided to take the carts, he decides they need to dispose of them. He and Henry hoist the carts over a ledge into a water-filled ditch. I think he was expecting some spectacular splash followed by the carts being whisked quickly down the ravine but they just fell in with a plunk and stayed there.

We close out the evening with greasy pancakes at Denny's and a conversation about the ideal size of labia lips (classy people, ain't we)? After polling everybody on the graveyard shift, we learned that when it comes to women, size doesn't matter.

From Others: The Fester Story

Who I am is unimportant. I am not currently undergoing psychotherapy or counseling, nor am I enrolled in any 12-step organization or rehab program. There is no one out there who can help me. I am writing this both as a form of catharsis and as a cautionary example to those who may be thinking to follow in my footsteps. What follows is my dim, hazy recollection of a night involving myself, Doug Stanhope, booze, a girl - and a man called Fester.

First, the setting: Wednesday, January 24th of '01, Doug begins a week at a club near me. We were casual online-friends who'd met a few times before, and since I have plenty of free time and a taste for quality comedy on the darker end of the scale, I dropped by to see him. He'd comped me for the night - one thing you learn quickly about Doug is that it's nearly impossible to buy a drink or otherwise spend money in his presence, regardless of your financial situation or how well he knows you. Anyway, the show was all right for a Wednesday, and there were some hardcore fans of his in the audience. Some of them followed us - myself, Doug, the feature and the opener - to a nearby karaoke bar after the show. (Doug's line describing the establishment is: "They say you can't get AIDS from a toilet seat - I think that place is where they did most of the testing!"; my only addition would be that, as we walked in, someone was wrapping up a drunken rendition of "King of the Road" to a fair round of applause - not a promising sign...) So there were the four of us, plus four locals: all youngish, husky guys with shaved heads and unshaven faces, all apparently from the same Red Lobster kitchen staff, and all clearly devoted members of the Cult of Stanhope. Under other circumstances their presence might have been kinda creepy, but something about the atmosphere of the night made it all right.

We spent a few hours there. Over the course of the evening some drinks were downed, some yarns spun, and inevitably, the subject of self-exposure came up... Doug quickly obliged (though I don't specifically recall anyone actually asking him), and it was at this point that one of the group of fans entered my sphere of attention. They called him 'Fester', after the Addams Family guy. I later learned his given name was Jason. His eagerness to match Doug's gesture could not be denied, and indeed he actually insisted Doug not only observe but actually TOUCH him... To Doug's obvious amazement, Fester actually had less to exhibit than he did! He wasn't even able to extend any part of his genitalia beyond the zipper of his pants - indeed, he seemed oddly proud of the fact. Doug was enjoying this novel experience immensely, and had clearly developed a keen interest in this fellow. Dicks became the only possible topic of conversation for the rest of the evening. But finally it was time for me to go home, and after playing designated driver for the comics, I did so - with a promise to return on Friday.

The fateful day came, and I arrived early enough to catch both performances. Fester and his crew unexpectedly returned for the late show, and found us at that karaoke bar again later that night. There had been far more drinking - a guy in the audience had bought Doug several un-asked-for shots during his 2nd set, and I myself had no plans to drive anywhere that night, but before long the bar was closing. Doug had been amusing himself by having Fester show his schmeckle to various patrons, to their evident delight and amusement - one especially attractive woman even complimented him on it (of course, she was clearly there with one of the club bouncers, so there was no misinterpretation possible...) Now, about here my memory begins to get a little indistinct - but after closing time, we found ourselves outside in the cold with everyone leaving for wherever. Soon an SUV pulled up out of the darkness, and Doug and I hopped in. Turned out it was driven by one of the waitresses from the club, and after picking up Fester she drove us back to the condo. The other two comics were already there, but the opener quickly disappeared into her bedroom and the feature left with some relatives of his who lived nearby, leaving the four of us for the night. It's at least 2:30am at this point.

As a prelude to what follows, let me say that Doug is possibly the most persuasive person I've ever met. He never really orders anyone around; he just asks people to do the most outrageous stuff, then with a jovial "C'mon!" and a jerk of his head, they obey as if dragged by wires... it is simply incredible to watch, and it makes me very glad he's on our side. But I will go to my grave without any clear idea of the sequence of events which lead to what happened next. Doug had been questioning Fester about his personal life - his divorce, whether he was dating anyone, and so on. Not a lot of action in Fester's life recently, as I recall. Almost before I knew it, he had Fester blindfolded and had talked the waitress into giving him a free hand job! Doug had found makeshift lubricants in the condo kitchen - dish soap and a half-empty tub of goat cheese from the fridge, I believe - and was dribbling them over the action, while I did my drafted duty as photographer. Incidentally, I have never developed that roll of film. Eventually he and I decided that the more sensitive and mature course of action would be to adjourn to the next room, so that she and Fester could get the job done in private. And in fact we did briefly leave them alone, mostly to release the uncontrollable schoolgirl-like giggles of amazement at what was happening. But minutes later we quietly sneaked back out into the hallway to watch and listen from around the corner. And let me tell you, she was goooood... she had the moves and the patter of a real pro! I mean no slur on her character or community standing, but we were both impressed at her level of commitment to the job once she'd taken it on. And clearly, it was taking far longer than she expected, for whatever reason... I honestly don't recall if Fester eventually managed to come despite the fact that he probably could hear our stifled guffaws from four feet away, or if she finally just gave up and called it a night... in fact, the whole rest of that evening is a blur for me. The waitress was gone the next morning but I don't remember when she left, or even her name; although I strongly suspect that Doug got a picture of me in a compromising position at some point, thanks in part to her... there go my hopes for a seat in Congress! Fester crashed on the sofa, I took the feature's room, and Doug collapsed on his bed (fully clothed, with the light left on, arm dangling off the side, mouth open - looking like he'd been shot and left there for dead, really).

Fade to dawn

The next morning was oddly subdued... I woke up early, and spent the time corrupting Doug's laptop in ways he will discover over the coming months, as is my custom. Once the others awoke, we left for breakfast. Since nobody's car was nearby, it was about a mile's walk along streets purified by a blanket of newfallen snow. The clean, white hush of the landscape served as an ironic counterpoint to the sinful debauchery of the previous night, and somehow nobody seemed to have anything much to say. We arrived at a pancake place in time for lunch, and the rest of the day passed as distinctively as any time with Stanhope does - for example, he decided he wanted to play some baseball in the treacherously icy parking lot of a discount store at one point, then bought a plastic bat and ball and did just that. Later, back at the condo, Doug spent hours eerily engrossed by a documentary about Hitler on TV; then after seeing a commercial which somehow annoyed him, he abruptly called the number it listed with his cellphone and proceeded to deliver his most evil sentiments on whatever poor schlub was unfortunate enough to answer... But ultimately, we all knew that nothing could follow the previous night, and I finally left for home as Doug was driving Fester to his evening shift at the seafood restaurant.

I wonder what he told his buddies about that night. I wonder what he thinks are going to happen with the pictures. And I wonder what Doug remembers of what happened. But I now have a new standard of measurement for all the wild times I've had before and all the ones yet to come - the Stanhope Scale.

Ben Scott



From Others: Patricia Nelson's Road Story

I had a party scheduled months prior for Halloween, and was delighted to hear last minute that Doug Stanhope had picked up the week at the Chicago Zanies and would be in town for the festivities...until it actually came to him wreaking havoc in my house. Here is a brief summary of the events which unfolded in my apartment with the Zanies staff and a sorted mix of comedians on All Hallow's Eve...

Doug had decided he would experiment with the development of his one man show at Zanies on Sunday night by inviting my boyfriend, Eddie, to accompany his comedy at the dilapidated piano seeking refuge on the club's stage. The piano player showed up late, however, and Doug had directed me, "If he gets here while I'm on stage, just send him up and I won't even acknowlege him." That is exactly what happened, and fifteen minutes into his set, Eddie made his way to the stage, Sam Adams in hand, walking deadpan past Doug and making a subtle, yet dramatic procession of pulling out the piano bench and settling in to play, first softly, then very much with the rhythm of Doug's act. The effect was absolutely intriguing, and the two of them played to the back of the room, sending at least two people to the bathroom in fear of pissing their pants in the most literal sense of the word.

After the show ended, we quickly gathered up our belongings, verified that Doug had been paid, and all quickly migrated to the party that was already in full swing at my house. Then again, if Doug Stanhope is showing up, nothing is REALLY in full swing until he arrives.

We got to my house and settled in just in time for the hourly Cuervo shot which is customary at all my parties. It wasn't soon after the second hourly shot (at midnight), that things began to go awry.

After a certain comic was found in my roommates bedroom, "just sleeping" with a certain waitress (with her body glitter all over his face), Auggie Smith, who made a guest appearance in town just for my party (as far as you know), was found in a sixty-nine with another waitress who shall remain nameless as far as this tale is concerned.

The pump organ was rolled in a few minutes later, and various persons took a crack at making carnival noises in sporadic intervals of typically drunken attentions. I never did get to sing the song I wrote for Susanna Lee, which was the reason it was brought up from the basement in the first place.

A picture was posed for, and Doug dropped his pants for the camera, much to the surprise of anyone who didn't know him. Much to the boredom of anyone that did. After you've known Doug a while, you expect it. Seeing Doug Stanhope whip out his penis is like seeing a baby spit up. At first it's cute, even though it's kind of disgusting, but after it happens a few times, you just have to shake your head and think to yourself, "Oh, God, not again..." and simply deal with it. Then of course, there's a mess to clean up.....

Doug Stanhope was definitely the life of the party, and played host by kissing everyone on the mouth and with tongue, including John Roy, who has since moved to San Francisco and is performing in a not-for-profit musical production of Philladelphia while going to beauty school. We love him for him. Ironically, Stanhope was quoted as saying, "I think I kissed just about everybody last night... oh - except Josh Perlman." This is because Josh is staying faithful to Anthony Clark. We're looking in to whether or not Scott Perlman was involved in a tongueing as well. It is assumed, but at this point we cannot confirm anything.

Mel and myself switched costumes mid-party, and she became Ginger from Gilligan's Island, and I became Charlie Chaplan. Little did I know that Eddie was commenting on the sexy dress all night, and was unwittingly to all parties concerned, placed in a rather precarious dichotomy of seeing his girl's co-worker donned in the dress he wanted nothing more than to rip off of it's original wearer. I also got to see Mel close to naked. If John Roy hadn't come out at the party, I'd have had to paint with words the sight of Mel in her underwear. Phew!

Dan Carlson had a few cocktails and disappeared without a trace into the night. He never did get to see Auggie Smith do time, although he DID catch wind of him getting a blowjob, and I think he was pretty impressed. I don't want to jump the gun, but if I were you, I'd look for Auggie at the Third Annual Chicago Comedy Festival. Doug and Eddie disappeared into my bedroom for an indetermineable amount of time before Mel inquired on their whereabouts. "They're probably making out in my room," was my semi-concerned reply. Mel entered the lion's den in search of the MIA partiers, and quickly found herself being held hostage in a game referred to as "The V.I.P. Room". The object of this game is to leave the remainder of the party guessing as to what events are transpiring mysteriously behind closed doors and to make them jealous, if at all possible, and is most effectively done in sexual innuendo. I was the next to be hijacked. Doug Stanhope, as expected, was the instigator of the game, and Eddie, Mel, and I quickly conspired with him. Doug first emerged from my bedroom naked, parading through the party to retrieve a beer from the refrigerator in a most nonchalant manner. He returned to the room with a beer, the V.I.P. room giggling like preteens at a porno. Doug decided to donn a piece of suggestive clothing next, and I volunteered the white lace teddy I had worn beneath my dress and now had on under Mel's Charlie Chaplan costume. Much to my chagrin (as far as anyone else is concerned), I was shocked and a bit confused at finding myself naked, but quickly slid on a pair of purple polyester bell bottoms and a blazer. Doug walked through the party, having a bit of a dilema with keeping his testicles contained in his lingerie. Let me tell you, he looked like a breathtaking bride on her honeymoon night, all ripe and virginal and ready to be deflowered.

The party haphazzardly migrated into my bedroom, at least a large majority of it. Despite Mel's insistance that he not be allowed into the V.I.P. room on dress code violation (i.e., he was wearing a turtleneck) her decision was overridden, and Auggie and the waitress who shall remain nameless came in and got to the good stuff, quickly becoming nearly oblivious to the large crowd of people that had gathered around their escapades on my bed. That is, until Doug Stanhope started dripping wax on the exposed rear end of the girl. Mel retaliated by dripping wax on Doug's ass. I doubt I can take the teddy to my regular dry cleaner and maintain the slightest bit of respect from her.

John Roy was allowed into the room, and soon emerged with his penis exposed. Mel was seen exiting the room wrapped in a blanket on a mission to change the CD, then, a half an hour later, flung open the door with a bloodcurdling scream, crying hysterically, "This has never happened to me before! I thought they were my friends!" No one really knows what was going on in there, but the outsiders were only left guessing. They may never know. It's possible that the public will discover the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa first.

After that, it gets a little hazy, but this was near the time that the party broke up. That was around 6:45 a.m. The downstairs neighbor had made an appearance, but he slipped out unnoticed, and all I know is that I saw him coming home the next day, and he refused to make eye contact with me. I think he's scared of me now. Auggie and his girl disappeared from the building together, and Mel gave Stanhope a ride back to the condo, after he grappled through my laundry pile in search of the clothing he walked in wearing. I vaguely recall telling them goodbye.

I awoke in the late morning the next day, to the sound of Doug Stanhope crowing like a rooster with throat cancer into my answering machine. "Fuck him," I thought, noticing that my apartment smelled like a pool hall and my brain was rattling around in my head like a stale prune, all black and sticky and shrivelled. I waded through the aftermath of liquor bottles, tipped over cups, full ashtrays and empty beer cans, not to mention my wax-caked bedclothes, smiling at the second incoming call where Doug relayed his breakfast order into my machine.

As I laughed at his tale of the stupid waitress he'd had at Mitchell's, I managed to find several items which were left at my party. This is the lost and found portion of my little piece. If any of the items listed below belong to you, please contact me.

* 1 blond wig, chin length, curly

* 1 pair of plywood slabs graffittied with radical religious slogans

* 1 pair of women's CK blue jeans, size 14

* approximately 150 half-full plastic cups, 12 oz.

* approximately 80 beer cans, various brands, most empty

* 1 pump organ * 3 empty 1.5 liter bottles, 2 Cuervo, 1 Jack Daniels

* 1 brown faux fur coat, calf-length

* 27 empty cigarette packs, various brands

* 3 blue garbage bags, torn * 1 alien mask

* 1 statue of liberty torch, cardboard

* 0.8 oz. unidentifiable body fluid, found on my roommate's bed

* 8 CD's, entitled "Doug Stanhope: Sicko", found in my car.

Mel Gillpin was quoted as saying, "It was good, clean fun." John Roy, who is apparently a political wacko, said simply, "The Republican Party: We're Changin'." Eddie Dixon simply asked, "So, how long until Doug Stanhope stops coming up in conversation?" All I know is, it could be a while. PATRICIA WAITS

From Others: Steve Gubala's Road Story

So we're in Portland Oreegun at Mary's Spot, watchin' her spot. The bull dike bartender says "Why doesn't cum taste like chocolate?" Doug replies "Cause if it didn't taste like bleach you'd forget to do the laundry!" I laughed so hard I fell off the stool. Heidi Hudson (I haven't forgotten the laundry yet!)

From Others: Kevin's Road Story

I'm sure a number of Doug's road stories involve drunken nights stumbling into karaoke bars; if you haven't heard this one already it's about time you did.

After a rough "Kill the Keg" Thursday night crowd at Uncle Funny's in Davie Florida, Doug, D.T. Tosh and myself wanted to go out for "just one beer". Arriving at a local bar, we were turned away at the door because I was wearing a baseball cap, and Doug had no intention of going into "a redneck bar with a dresscode"! Just wanting that one beer to fufill the evening, we wandered around finding "Luke's Bar and Grill" just up the block. Walking in we knew this was not our element. A forty-something hillbilly chick is wailing Reba McIntyre on the Karaoke stage in a room filled with blue jeans, cowboy boots and red plaid shirts that matched the tableclothes nearly identically.

Doug wastes no time; He scans the Karaoke selections and gets a hold of the MC in hopes of being bumped up in the rotation rather than listen to 15 more clint black-garth brooks wannabes. As his name is called, Dt and I squirm when we see the song he has selected to sing pop up on the lyrics screen - "I Am Woman"/Helen Reddy. Doug greets the audience with his usual charm, and urges them to read along (since he's about to change nearly every word).

The next three minutes of profanity laced singalong prompts the manager out of his seat attempting to cut the breaker on the speakers. Rednecks seem to be lining up to kick Doug's ass but he's belting it out with all the energy of a star search contestant. If it were not for a table of 12 or so college students who stood up and cheered for Doug at the conclusion of his "song" things could have gotten ugly.

To really appreciate this story I will have to dub the copy I have of Doug's performance that night because it would be a great addition to this sight as a WAV. file. I left moments later when Doug and Dt decided to slow dance cheek to cheek as the MC sang " love on the rocks ".