South Bend Funnybone and the Distasteful Rape of Babies

The bit is an old one but can be easily re-tooled to fit whatever business entity that has recently chaffed my bung. It was the first track on The Great White Stanhope: "Jizzed By Hertz." The bit explains the "raw deal" -- in that case, by Hertz Rent-A-Car. It goes on to say that just recounting the offense isn't enough to hurt their business and so, instead, I will just tell incredible lies about the institution. I then describe in graphic detail Baby Rapers and Terrorists how, after asking Hertz for an upgrade, they raped my baby. How they put it's head in a vice and made love to it's toothless mouth while pressing their thumbs into it's soft spot. It goes on and on.

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Mr. Rouse

Sean Rouse was booked last summer at the South Bend Funny Bone, unaware of the anal breach that awaited him. Rouse is one of the best comics working on this planet. Dark, evil, extraordinarily smart, relevant and adorable. He's a fuck-up, there's no defense. But he wouldn't need to fuck up to get pooned squarely by the South Bend Funny Bone. Sean performed his first show of the week to a handful of dolts, one of whom was a rape crisis counselor and took histrionic exception to Rouse's fantastic Kobe Bryant material. (The gist is that Kobe doesn't know how to rape a girl because he never went to college.) So the Rape-Crisis nancy-man goes into his fits, demanding satisfaction. And this weak-kneed puke of a comedy club manager reacts by firing Sean. That would be within her rights. Perhaps cunty, short-sighted, weak and repulsive, but still within her rights. Would be fine, I say, if she'd seen fit to pay him for the week. And if she?d had the courage to talk to him and tell him why. But she did none of these things.

In fact, this shit-bellied waste-hole even waited until AFTER Sean Rouse had crawled his failing body out of bed to do morning radio -- promoting a show that she already knew he wouldn't be part of -- before she delegated the task of firing Rouse onto one of her flunkies and hid out of site in her own trembling filth.

Sean Rouse had driven from Los Angeles, California, to South Bend, Indiana, to work this gig ( 2156.9 miles each way ). Sean Rouse is crippled with rheumatoid arthritis and has a difficult enough time being able to pay for his medication in a business this fickle, even when dealing with bookers who are honest and respectable. Now he is in the middle of the country, broke. He's stranded with no reason to be in such a state, fired for doing what he was hired to do -- his act.

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He called me when it happened and it filled me with impotent rage. Flaccid in that I didn't know the club, the half-wit who runs it or even anyone else who had played there and might rectify the slight. It's not really in the stomping grounds of anyone outside the Etta May types. I went on with my life. But, I stored the hate.

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Bob and Tom have been very kind to me. Meaning, they know I'm not really a Bob and Tom comic, I know that I'm not a Bob and Tom comic and a good portion of their listening audience certainly knows that I'm not a Bob and Tom comic. But they have me on once in a while, regardless. I like that. It's quite a compliment.

The Friends of Bob and Tom Tour has been selling out in their markets for some time. They decided to try a "Twisted" version of the tour, featuring some of the dirtier comics, and they put me on the bill. Just a handful of dates to see how it went over.The first date: Madison, Wisconsin. The second: South Bend, Indiana.

Fantastic.

I take the stage in South Bend with my opening bit ready to roll. I simply replace "Hertz" with "South Bend Funny Bone," and we have several minutes of justice in front of a sold-out theater of local comedy fans. And these people don't care for rapin' no babies.

I knew full well that this would get back to the gummy twat at the hometown comedy rip-joint. What I didn't know is that she was in the audience. Right in the middle of 2,500 people screaming the name of the club that she incompetently runs.

(Transcript from show)  Doug:   "Who rapes babies?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone!!!" Doug:   "Who is responsible for the killing of 6 million Jews in World War II?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone"!!! Doug:   "Who murdered Natalie Holloway?" Audience:   "South Bend Funny Bone!!!" Doug:   "No!!!", I say, "it was that judge's kid. But I bet I know where you can find the body: At the South Bend Funny Bone, under a stack of comment cards."

What a good feeling.

No, this doesn't get Sean Rouse the money he is rightfully due. But it felt fantastic to have the opportunity to call this woman a moth-eaten cunt (with the assist of a signer for the deaf translating it to my right on the edge of the stage, in case this worthless grifter had the gift of hearing repossessed by Jesus as cosmic payback) in a nest of her peers.

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At the merch booth, security guards flanked me on either side. And I was informed that the cunt I'd addressed onstage had in fact been present. They were now worried that some kind of situation might occur.

And I beamed.

"This is Ri-dic-u-lous," Hedberg would have said, laughing. The woman couldn't produce the fortitude to fire Sean Rouse to his face, finding some house lackey better suited for the job. I'm not worried about her knuckling up and turning over the CD table. Especially when she has no argument.

She is no different than a thief. She ripped off a cripple. She has absolutely no argument. Yes, I have spoken with comics who know her and actually like her and desperately wanted to defend her, but they couldn't. She is not only everything I have said, but she knows that it is indefensible.

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Epilogue...

The booker of the tour called to say that the other two Bob and Tom dates I had booked would be pulled. I have been fired. He talked in circles and never quite told me why:

"The Twisted tour is in it's infancy... Until we have a read on the market, blah, blah, blah..."

So I don't know. Was it that my verbal dressing-down of a paying sponsor of the local B&T affiliate that fucked my friend? Or, was it the simple fact that my brand of "Twisted" is still far beyond what a B&T audience is prepared for? Don't matter. The other two dates are gone, and that's OK. The booker needed to save his ass for whatever reason, I understand. Dates aren't something I'm short on and the best of gigs are worth losing to fight back for someone - one of us - who has been so blatently and unapologetically poop-dicked.

To think that I was unjustly fired for bringing direct and glaring light on the person who had my friend unjustly fired is kinda hilarious. And any comic who would do otherwise for the sake of a shitty date in South Bend, Indiana, is a worm-holed cunt who probably rapes babies.

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If you're looking for some top-rate stand-up CDs - I got two for you.

Todd Barry's latest "Falling Off The Bone" fucking destroyed me.

And, finally...after this long... the Andy Andrist CD - "Dumbing It Down For The Masses" has finally spilled off the assembly line and is here for mass consumption.

Buy 'em, burn 'em off and pass 'em around. The good ones can no longer count on the media to promote them. It's in your hands now, shit-beans. Sean Rouse product is still nowhere to be found, same with Rogan's latest - you're both comedy cockteases.

Stanhope in '08!