| Check back Often for real stories of Dennis Blair's Life on the road.You will hear it all first hand from one of America's HARDEST working comedians. |
January 2, 2006
A SPECIAL POST-HOLIDAY MESSAGE FROM YOUR OLD PAL DENNY
2005 was a year the likes of which I hope I never see again. It
would take up too much time and space to list all the reasons,
so let me just say that any year where the major argument is
whether it’s too offensive to say “Merry Christmas” while at the
same time people like Paris Hilton, Ashlee Simpson and Hugh
Hefner’s airheaded girlfriends have careers is the kind of year
I’d rather forget.
So in that same spirit of holiday cheer, I wish each and every
one of you a happy new year. Which brings me to another
point…
The very phrase “Happy New Year” should be stricken from the
lexicon. As I write this, the war in Iraq is still raging, most of
New Orleans is still covered in mud and 13 miners have been
trapped underground in an explosion in West Virginia. Happy
New Year? Uh, no. Not yet anyway. The only “happy” thing
about all this tragedy is that, at least temporarily, I don’t have to
watch Paris Hilton, Ashlee Simpson and Hugh Hefner’s
airheaded girlfriends on TV. Although I must admit, Mariah
Carey’s new titties aren’t half bad. They must have been a
lovely Christmas gift from someone.
(Sorry…did I say ‘Christmas”? I meant to say the much more
universally accepted phrase for the holidays, which is “Holy-
Shit-If-I-Knew-The-Electric-Bill-Would-Be-This-High-I-Wouldn’t-
Have-Put-Up-These-Damn-Lights.”)
Anyway, we never know what the next day is going to bring, let
alone the next year. So I’m changing my original “Happy New
Year”greeting. In this spirit of realism and practicality, I want to
wish you all a ‘New Year that Doesn’t Suck”.
________________________________________________________
December 15 – 19, 2005
This was the last four days of our East Coast swing, and we
based out of New York City. Naturally, I called Jackie Mason,
and I met him and a small squadron of his friends at Starbucks
on 67th and Columbus, across the street from the Starbucks at
67th and Broadway, which was around the corner from the
Starbucks inside the Barnes and Noble on 66th, which is being
turned into a Starbucks.
I walked in and was greeted warmly by Jackie: “You look
terrible. What do you have, tuberculosis?”
“I was warm, in my hotel room”, I replied,”, but I put on a hat
and a scarf and walked seventeen blocks for this?”
“Speaking of outfits”, he said, “ I’ve never seen such an outfit
on a person. You call that a coat?...”
He was about to go into a withering monologue about my coat,
but I interrupted and launched into my dead-on Jackie Mason
impersonation of him making fun of my coat, which would be
useless to write down, because it wouldn’t be funny, because
you’d have to hear it.
When I’d finished, Jackie nodded a few times and said, “You
don’t have enough faith in yourself, you have to borrow my
personality?”
To which I replied, “Now that you mention it, I’d rather borrow
your coat.”And we laughed and we laughed until they threw us
out of the Starbucks.
________________________________________________________
November 1-5, 2005
George was doing gigs in the New York/New Jersey area to
prepare for his HBO Special, so we spent some time in the Big
Apple.
As I always do when I’m in town, I called my old friend and
master comedian, Jackie Mason, to see if we could hang out. It’
s always great to hang with Jackie, because you know you’ll
have a million laughs, some great show-biz stories, heated
political discussions, and of course, at some point in the
evening, insults to your self-esteem.
This time, I didn’t have to wait to see him to get the insult. I’d
left a message on his voicemail, and received this reply from
Jackie on my machine a few hours later:
“Hello hello, it’s Jackie Mason. Well, you’re not gonna believe
it, but I’m glad to hear you’re in town. It shows how desperate I
am for company that I’m happy about something like this. For
most people this would be a calamity, but for me it’s great
news.
Anyway, I’ll be at the coffee shop later doing nothing. I know
you’re accustomed to doing nothing, so maybe later we can
meet and we can do nothing together.”
So we hung out later in a coffee shop with his friends Bob and
Charlie. We had a great time, and I actually said something
which made everybody laugh real hard. At which point Jackie
pointed at me and said to his friends, “See? What’d I tell ya.
Once a year.”
Whenever I’m in New York, I run into at least one interesting
street person. Sure enough, I was talking to Bob and Charlie on
91st and Broadway when a seedy looking guy sauntered up and
said;
“Hey, excuse me, don’t be afraid, I don’t want any money.”
Okay, so what can we do for you?
“I’m a diabetic. Can I have some money?”
Well, the logic was clear. Since he didn’t want any money, but
he wanted money, we gave him some money.
IN THE NEWS:
Dick Cheney’s top adviser, Scooter Libby, pleaded innocent of
charges that he obstructed justice, lied under oath and stole his
nickname from a seven-year-old Bronx boy wearing a propeller
cap. To protect themselves, the White House is considering
replacing Scooter from among several candidates, including
Tipper Gore, Fibber McGee, PooPooHead Brown and
Boogernose Leibowitz,
JUST A THOUGHT:
Almost every day, we’re hearing about Bird Flu and how there’s
a distinct possibility that it will kill about seven hundred million
people, and that’s just in Brooklyn. So my question is, how
come we’re not on Orange Alert? Whenever there’s a threat of
a terrorist plot, we go on Orange Alert. Shouldn’t there be an
alert for a disease that could wipe out half of the United States?
Osama Bin Laden gets his own security color code, but I can’t
protect my family from a rabid chicken? Get on it, willya? I’m
at KFC, and I’m nervous.
See ya next time. - DB
________________________________________________________
September 23,2005
We were doing a show in Oklahoma City. I did my set and, as I
usually do, went out for a walk to find someplace to eat while
George was onstage.
I came back an hour later, expecting George to be winding up
his set. I instead, I walked into the theater to the incessant
“WOOOOOOP…WOOOOOOP…WOOOOP!” sound of a fire
alarm. Instead of being onstage, George greeted me with a
cheery “Hi” outside the dressing room.
Apparently, while George was on, a fight had broken out
between two drunks in the lobby. Security intervened and
threw them both out, but not before one of them pulled the fire
alarm on his way out the door. The alarm went on for about 45
minutes, since no one could figure out how to reset the damn
thing without setting it off all over again. The alarm had also cut
all power to the sound system, so the show, as they say, could
not go on. George came out about halfway through, explained
the situation to the audience, told three filthy jokes without
benefit of a microphone, and retreated to the wings.
Mercifully, power was restored and George went on with the
show, to the relief of the crowd, every member of which had
stayed through it all. And me? I never got a damn thing to eat.
________________________________________________________
August 10, 2005
I came into Vegas to do two shows with a friend of mine at a
little club to try out some new material. The only problem was,
the owner of the club had forgotten to tell us the average age of
the audience was “dead two years”. There was one young
whippersnapper who was about 87, but the rest of the crowd
was considerably older and, by the looks of them, cranky.
Yeah…my new Robert Plant joke would go over great with
these people. I couldn't wait to try out my “Did you ever do
ecstasy?” routine.
The first show began. My comic friend and I did some warm up
jokes, which met with huge waves of indifference. We then
went straight to the impressions. The only problem was, our
“impressions” of celebrities were song parodies where we, of
course, changed the lyrics to the songs they knew and loved
and made a complete mockery of both the songs and the
performers.
We found out quickly that elderly people don’t appreciate this.
Older audiences seem to want their celebrity impressions true
to life and faithful to the originals. They don’t, for instance, want
to hear Tony Bennett sing: “I LEFT MY HEART / IN SAN
FRANCISCO / I LEFT MY NOSE / IN PARIS FRANCE / I LEFT MY
LIVER AND MY SPLEEN DOWN SOUTH IN NEW ORLEANS”“.
They don’t want to hear Connie Francis sing “Where’s the Ex-
Lax?”. And they definitely don’t appreciate watching Elvis
Presley throw up during a Taco Bell commercial. So, the
elderly people in the audience did the only thing they could do
under the circumstances….they rioted. Theyalso cancelled the
second show. But in my defense, they loved the ecstasy bit…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------
Got a visit backstage from my old friend Tony D’Andrea, a fine
comic with a strange mind, which means we get along just
fine. We were telling stories about the “old days” with Rodney
Dangerfield, when we all used to hang out.
Tony told about how he was hanging out with Rodney once,
driving around together in a car. They were shooting the
breeze about nothing in particular, laughing, having a great ol’
time, when Rodney gets a twinkle in his eye, turns to Tony and
begins this dialog:
RODNEY:
“Hey, Tony…am I great or what?”
TONY:
“Yeah, Rodney, you’re the greatest.”
RODNEY:
“I’m the greatest, ain’t that right?”
TONY:
“No doubt about it. You’re the best, Rodney, there’s nobody
better.”
RODNEY:
“I’m the best, I’m the greatest, there’s no one better than me, I’
m the top of the heap, right Tony?”
TONY:
“You got it, Rodney, you are tops.”
RODNEY:
“So Tony…what the fuck am I doin’ hangin’ out with you?”
________________________________________________________
June 7, 2005 Stardust Hotel, Las Vegas
Every once in awhile I put something out there and an alert
audience member throws it back in my lap...
I opened the show at the Stardust with some shouted
greetings, yelling out to the crowd; "Are ya feeling alright!?
(YEEEAAAHHH!!) Are ya ready to rock and roll!!??
(YEEEAAAAHHH!!!) Then what are you doing at a comedy
show!!?"
To which someone in the audience yelled back. "Dave
Matthews was sold out."
________________________________________________________
May 20-23 2005
We performed at the civic auditorium in Wichita Kansas, where
I had one of my favorite show business memories.
About six years ago I was opening for George at this same
theater. There was also a party next door where an Elvis
impersonator in full ‘70’s Elvis gear was performing.
At one point in my show, someone yelled out for me to do
Elvis. I did my Elvis parody, and then was about to move on
when suddenly the audience went nuts, laughing, screaming,
applauding. What the hell was going on….?
I turned around and saw the Elvis impersonator from the party
walking across the stage and heading straight toward me. He’d
been watching from the wings and when he heard my Elvis bit,
he decided to come on out. As the audience hooted, Elvis
came up to me, grabbed the microphone, and said to me, “Hey
…Can I have your autograph?” I gave it to him; he thanked me,
and walked offstage to huge applause.
Hoping against hope, I closed my eyes and yelled “Pamela
Anderson!” into the microphone. But she didn’t appear. I
guess Elvis was all I was getting that night.
MAY 6-8, 2005
Did a few East Coast dates this weekend, which means we
stayed in New York City overnight. Weather was beautiful, and
I took a walk around Manhattan for awhile. The usual platoons
of street people were out and about, always interesting, always
entertaining. The signs they carry have a certain sameness …
“Will Work For Food”, “Hungry”, or “Why Lie, I Need A Beer”.
The guy I gave money to this time was a true original though...a
black guy who came up to me with a Dixie cup outstretched
and a smile on his face, saying…
“Excuse me, would you like to make a donation to the United
Negro Pizza Fund”?
Of course I did. Gladly.
George had a great story about a street guy about a year ago
who was standing outside a grocery store in Manhattan.
George said he went to give him a ten dollar bill, but the guy
wouldn’t take it. He turned to George and said, ‘No, no, I need
you to go inside the store and buy me some food for lunch.”
So George went inside, bought some cold cuts, bread and a
dozen eggs, and gave them to the guy. The guy looked at the
eggs, turned to George and said, “How the hell am I supposed
to cook those?!”
And you thought all that money went to booze and drugs
________________________________________________________
April 15, 2005
Nothing amusing or interesting happened on the road this
weekend. To make up for it, I decided to give you an old road
story from my days opening for Rodney Dangerfield in the
eighties (from my unpublished book, "Me First"). Happy Tax
Day, everybody! - DB
Rodney and I were on our way to a show in Dallas, and the limo
was late picking us up. To make matters worse, we
immediately got stuck in heavy traffic, and it looked as if we'd
be late for the show. Rodney told the driver to go up on the
shoulder of the highway and bypass the other cars. The driver
was reluctant to break the law in this way, but after some gentle
coaxing by Rodney ("I'll pay for the fucking ticket, just go!"), the
driver took the shoulder route. Motorists were yelling and
screaming obscenities at us as we passed.
After about ten minutes we hit a nail or something and got a flat
tire. So here we were in this huge stretch limo stuck on the
side of the highway, with all the motorists we'd passed now
passing us, snickering and flipping us the finger. Rodney hid
his face in his hands, embarrassed by the whole thing.
But the fact remained that we were still running late and had to
get to the theater somehow, so Rodney decided to bite the
bullet. We grabbed our bags and got out of the limo as Rodney
tried to flag down anyone who would stop. I couldn't help
noticing some of the expressions on the faces of the passing
motorists. They seemed to say things like, "Jeez, that guy
looks like Rodney Dangerfield. Nahh, couldn't be, he'd be in a
limo.", as they kept right on going.
Finally, he flagged down a guy driving the most godforsaken,
dilapidated pickup truck I'd ever seen. It was covered with
grime from at least 1962 and spat out gray, noxious smoke from
the tailpipe. There were actually rust spots on the windshield.
But it was a ride, and we were desperate.
The driver, who from the looks of him has probably appeared
on several episodes of "Cops" by now, spat out some tobacco
juice as he let us in, while exclaiming, "Shit, you ain't that
Roger Dangerford, are ya?" Then he pulled out, his truck
backfiring all the way down the Interstate. He just couldn't
believe he had a celebrity in his vehicle. "Shit, my wife's gonna
die! Roger Dangerford, in my truck! My wife's just gonna shit!
Hey Roger, you wanna beer?"
"No thanks man", Rodney said as he began to cough
uncontrollably. "Just get us there before these fumes kill us,
okay?"
He did. We made it. And I guess that night, our driver's wife
just shat.
________________________________________________________
APRIL 8-10, 2005
CONNECTING FLIGHT TRUISMS:
Weary airplane traveler, if you’ve ever felt alone in your
suffering, believe me, you are not alone. I feel your pain. The
following 4 truisms about connecting flights have happened to
me many times (most recently this weekend). I hope they
bring you the comfort that comes with the knowledge that your
grief is shared.
TRUISM #1:
If you have a long layover between flights (at least an hour and
a half or more), the gate for your connecting flight will be right
next to the gate where you landed. You’ll be so bored by the
wait that you’ll fall asleep and almost miss the flight (happened
to me last year).
TRUISM #2:
If you have a short layover between flights (half an hour or
less), the gate for your connecting flight will be seven miles
away in another terminal in another building (this has never
NOT happened to me).
TRUISM #3:
If you have two connecting flights with a short layover in
between, the first flight will always be delayed. If this happens,
when you land, you’ll have to run at full speed with two heavy
pieces of carry-on luggage to get to your gate (see Truism #2).
TRUISM #4:
If your first flight is on time and the connecting flight is delayed,
that flight will be delayed at least five hours. After two hours,
you will get hungry and walk to the donut shop, which by now
will be closed. You will finally reach your destination at 3 A.M,
but it won’t matter because you’ll have died of starvation.
Feel free to print out these truisms and hand them to the gate
agents next time this happens to you. It’ll make a difference,
because they really care…almost as much as that automated
phone voice that says “Your Call is Important To Us”.
Your pal, Dennis
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY
My 87-year-old mom came to the gig tonight and, although I
love her dearly, embarrassed the crap out of me.
The greatest thing about my mom is that she says whatever
comes to her head without any editing. As we were walking
backstage, George popped his head out and said hello. My
mom took one look at him and blurted out, “Hey George, you
look good…I could really go for you!” I immediately led her
away and stuffed her with bean dip and cola before she could
say anything else.
I did my show, and as I came offstage George popped his head
out again and said, “Hey Dennis, your mom just gave me a
blow job in the dressing room”.
What a kidder!
________________________________________________________
March 30, 2005
I was delayed for 3 ½ hours on a layover from Milwaukee to
Grand Rapids. For those of you who have gone through this
sort of thing (and I know you’re out there), here’s my “What The
Airlines Say to What They Really Mean” Dictionary.
WHAT THEY SAY:
Flight 1907 to Grand Rapids has been delayed due to weather
conditions in the area. We will have an update at 8 PM.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
There are hail stones the size of chimpanzees killing people in
Michigan. No way in hell we’re getting out of here before
midnight.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 8PM:
Ladies and gentlemen, we expect this storm to blow over by 8:
30. We’ll let you know at 9 PM when you can begin the boarding
process.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
By 9 PM we hope the pilot will have walked off his Heineken
buzz. Meanwhile, the hailstorm has caused 100-foot tidal
waves. Everyone in Michigan is dead.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 9 PM:
The storm is dying down, but your aircraft needs some routine
maintenance. We’ll update you at 10 PM.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
We can’t find the goddamn crew. One of the air traffic
controllers went berserk and refuses to land any planes unless
Morgan Freeman marries his sister.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10 PM:
Routine maintenance has been completed, and the pilots are
just finishing up their paperwork. We appreciate your patience,
and we will get you to your destination as soon as they’re done.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
if we don’t get this goddamn plane in the air soon, we’re gonna
have to give these goddamn people vouchers for future travel
at two hundred bucks a pop, goddamn it! Put some seats in a
cargo plane, paint it blue and white and get Frank from luggage
to fly it!
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10:30 PM:
Passengers on flight 1907, we estimate departure time at 10:45.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
The crew just left the adult video arcade, the pilot can make
simple shapes with his fingers, and Morgan Freeman just
proposed.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10:45:
Ladies and gentlemen, we regret the inconvenience. Enjoy
your flight.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
You all just waited 3 ½ hours to take a 30-minute flight. Next
time, RENT A CAR, YOU MORONS!
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 26, 2005
Well, just when you think you’ve seen everything, you go to
Portland Maine and find out they have a store that sells nothing
but condoms.
I was taking a walk in the 20 degree weather because, a) I’m an
idiot, and b) you never know what you’ll find in a new city.
Like today, right here in Portland, I found a store that sells
nothing but condoms.
To borrow a phrase from Dave Barry, I am not making this up.
The name of the store is “Condom Sense”. Get it? I can’t stop
laughing.
Several thoughts cross your mind when you find a store like
this. For instance, you wonder how easy it must be to get laid
in a city that has a store named “Condom Sense”. You wonder
if you can actually get laid right there in the store. You also
wonder what the “Everything Half Off” sign means.
The questions keep coming… Are there fitting rooms? Is there
an “irregulars” section? How about a service department?
These questions were all on my mind as I wandered inside to
do some early Christmas shopping.
I made my purchases, and the lady at the counter handed me a
receipt. A RECEIPT! Does a store that sells nothing but
condoms actually have a return policy? Are there people who
bring back defective condoms? What exactly would the
complaint be? “Yeah, I need to return these condoms, they’re
too big.”
or, “Hey, these condoms glow in the dark. We couldn’t get to
sleep all night.”
or, “My girlfriend left me. Can I exchange these condoms for
the Paris Hilton pencil-sharpener?”
By the way, I’m not being totally honest. This store does have
other items besides condoms. They also sell – this is not a
joke, I swear – they also sell pasta in the shape of boobs and
penises.
All I can say is…GO PORTLAND!!!
So I guess a typical evening in Portland might go like this…after
a hot session of wild sex with your day-glo, too-big condoms,
you saunter out to the kitchen for a lovely pasta dinner.
“Honey, do you like your penises soft or al dente?”, you ask.
“Al dente” she replies. “Oh, and could you please pass the
tits?”
Addendum:
I love the drivers and the guys that cart us around, because
they come in contact with all the show business stars and know
what they're really like offstage. I was talking to the driver at
one gig, who told me about a really famous comedian who
played in town recently and treated him, basically, like dirt. I
can’t mention his name, but according to the driver he had a
real attitude, thought he was better than everybody else, and
actually expected this driver to “wait outside in the 20-degree
cold by the limo car door for his whole show until he came
offstage.” So what was our driver’s response?
“Fuck that”, he said. “I’ll treat you with respect, I’ll do what I’m
paid to do, but I ain’t freezin’ my ass off for anybody, I don’t
care who it is.”
Another celebrity got pissed off because he had a town car, not
a limo. “Where’s my limo?” the outraged star said. “Whaddya
need it for…you’re only goin’ twenty feet!”, came the reply.
There are many stories about celebrities who are nice and
decent and civil, but then you always get the idiot who starts
believing his own press and making drivers stand out in the
cold. I always root for these people to go down in flames, and
sometimes, they actually do. Just not enough of them to
satisfy me. That’s why there will always be comedy to be
made!
Always remember: People in show business are just like
everyone else…we’re just more brightly lit.
Tune in again next time, when I’ll be reporting from the
Milwaukee Vibrator Emporium.
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 20 2005
Rehab Blues...George is still recovering from his stint in rehab I
guess, because he blew out this weekend's dates. To keep
myself from going nuts, I went to Vegas and did a guest spot at
a friend's club, and had what was for me a proud moment in
heckler-handling history.
Some guy was mouthing off, and I was having my usual fun
going one-on-one with him to the audience's delight. At one
point he got up and left, and I figured I'd prevailed. But he
returned to his seat about two minutes later, having gone to the
bathroom, and now had a wad of toilet paper wrapped around
his head. For some reason, he thought this would show me
up. Instead, I just looked at him and said, "Gee...I guess that
would make you a shithead."
________________________________________________________
March 11-12
We played San Antonio and Fort Worth Texas this weekend. It
was an uneventful trip, except for two things…
INCIDENT #1: EARLY WAKEUP CALL
I was awakened much too early in my Fort Worth hotel room for
one of the stupidest reasons I can remember.
You can stay in a nice, fancy five-star hotel, or in the sleaziest
roadside Motel 6, but they all have the same thing in
common…the “Do Not Disturb” sign is totally meaningless.
Maids knock, I ignore. But then they call and say “Sir, when
would you like your room cleaned?” And I say, “Oh, I don’t
know, how about WHEN I TAKE THE DAMN “DO NOT DISTURB”
SIGN OFF MY DOORKNOB!!??”
Anyway, I had fallen asleep at around 3:30 AM Saturday, so you
can imagine how thrilled I was to hear someone pounding at
my door at 9 AM. I politely yelled
“AMMFGGGHHRGGMM!!!”, which is sleep-deprived for “Go
Away!!” The pounding stopped, to be replaced five minutes
later by my phone ringing. I answered it, saying
“MMGGHHFFRRGGHH??” into the receiver. It was the lady at
the front desk, telling me there was an emergency and that
engineering had to get into my room to fix my closet door.
I have a list of emergencies that I carry in my wallet at all
times. “Broken Closet Door” is way down on the list, right
below “Crooked Tissue Box”. Sure, it’s an inconvenience, but
if I’m in a room and the closet door breaks, my chances of
survival are excellent. I’ve turned on the hotel channel on my
TV, and they always tell me what to do in case of a fire or a
tornado or an overflowing toilet. Not once have I heard them
say, “If your closet door breaks, don’t panic…stay low to the
floor, take what clothing you’re able to salvage and get out of
the room immediately.”
So I explained to the nice lady on the phone that I work at night,
and I need my sleep, so please have engineering go do
something useful like unscrewing every third light bulb in the
hallway, and then, much, much later, come back and fix my
closet door. Or don’t. I could give a crap.
INCIDENT #2: OPENING ACT NIGHTMARE
The lights go down in the theatre, and the crowd goes wild,
anticipating the triumphant entrance of their hero, George
Carlin. An announcement comes over the loudspeaker;
“Please make welcome George Carlin’s special guest…Dennis
Blair!!”
Except what the audience hears is:
“Please make welcome George Carlin!...”
Because the “Dennis Blair” part has been drowned out by the
crowd screaming in anticipation of seeing their hero, George
Carlin, walk out.
And then I walk out. And I look nothing like George. And the
reaction of the audience goes from delight to confusion to
anger to hatred.
It sounds like this:
“YAAAAAAAYHUUUUUUHHH???OOOOOOOH!!BOOOOOOOO!!!”
Well, after I quickly explained to the good people in that Fort
Worth audience that George wasn’t here yet and I was his
special guest and could you please let me live and Forth Worth
is the BEST DAMN CITY IN THE WORLD….everything went
fine.
But I think from now on, I’m hiring someone to come out with a
sign with my name printed on it…preferably a young blonde in
a bikini tossing tootsie rolls and dollar bills to the crowd.
Meanwhile…
IN THE NEWS:
Michael Jackson showed up at the courthouse wearing pajamas
today. You know, there’s no better way to show the world that
you’re not the freak everyone thinks you are by coming to your
court date in a flannel nightie. Way to go, Mike!
Well, until next time, take care and keep your closet doors in
working order.
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 4-5
Finally back on the road after George’s 12-week stint in rehab. I
had had nightmares about George showing up at the airport
chanting “Hare Krishna” and wearing a dashiki and love beads,
so it was a relief to see him with his NFL jacket and his same
old edge.
It was a little odd getting back in the swing of telling jokes, but it
all clicked in just in time for the shows in Hagerstown
Maryland.
Went to a Chinese restaurant between shows where the waiter
didn’t understand English. This would be fine, except he didn’t
understand my order, which was weird because it was on the
menu. Granted, it was in English, but it was on the damn menu!
I ordered shrimp with lobster sauce and he looked at me like I’d
told him his father was a hamster. He finally went away, and I
prayed he wouldn’t bring me a dog leg with a side order of wire
mesh. He didn’t.
Played Washington DC the next night. Our driver was an ex-
cop who’d killed a guy ten years ago during a robbery attempt. I
made sure not to make any sudden moves. I don’t know what it
is about me that makes ex-cops open up and tell me about the
people they’ve killed, but I’m glad I can bring out their sensitive
side. I told him about the Chinese waiter who didn’t understand
my order. He offered to kill him for me. I said it really wouldn’t
be necessary, since the lobster was delicious.
The shows were fun to do. What a shame the President didn’t
show up for the DC shows. If he hangs out with guys like Bono,
he would’ve had a blast with us. At least George and I take our
damn sunglasses off while we’re doing ipod commercials.
Martha Stewart got out of jail this weekend, possibly to make
room for Robert Blake. I hope she’s learned her lesson; If you
commit a crime, your net worth will increase dramatically and
you’ll get a deal to do two reality shows. That’ll teach her.
Well, all’s right with the world. But you didn’t hear it from me.
Tune in for more road stories in the coming weeks.
Your pal, Dennis
A SPECIAL POST-HOLIDAY MESSAGE FROM YOUR OLD PAL DENNY
2005 was a year the likes of which I hope I never see again. It
would take up too much time and space to list all the reasons,
so let me just say that any year where the major argument is
whether it’s too offensive to say “Merry Christmas” while at the
same time people like Paris Hilton, Ashlee Simpson and Hugh
Hefner’s airheaded girlfriends have careers is the kind of year
I’d rather forget.
So in that same spirit of holiday cheer, I wish each and every
one of you a happy new year. Which brings me to another
point…
The very phrase “Happy New Year” should be stricken from the
lexicon. As I write this, the war in Iraq is still raging, most of
New Orleans is still covered in mud and 13 miners have been
trapped underground in an explosion in West Virginia. Happy
New Year? Uh, no. Not yet anyway. The only “happy” thing
about all this tragedy is that, at least temporarily, I don’t have to
watch Paris Hilton, Ashlee Simpson and Hugh Hefner’s
airheaded girlfriends on TV. Although I must admit, Mariah
Carey’s new titties aren’t half bad. They must have been a
lovely Christmas gift from someone.
(Sorry…did I say ‘Christmas”? I meant to say the much more
universally accepted phrase for the holidays, which is “Holy-
Shit-If-I-Knew-The-Electric-Bill-Would-Be-This-High-I-Wouldn’t-
Have-Put-Up-These-Damn-Lights.”)
Anyway, we never know what the next day is going to bring, let
alone the next year. So I’m changing my original “Happy New
Year”greeting. In this spirit of realism and practicality, I want to
wish you all a ‘New Year that Doesn’t Suck”.
________________________________________________________
December 15 – 19, 2005
This was the last four days of our East Coast swing, and we
based out of New York City. Naturally, I called Jackie Mason,
and I met him and a small squadron of his friends at Starbucks
on 67th and Columbus, across the street from the Starbucks at
67th and Broadway, which was around the corner from the
Starbucks inside the Barnes and Noble on 66th, which is being
turned into a Starbucks.
I walked in and was greeted warmly by Jackie: “You look
terrible. What do you have, tuberculosis?”
“I was warm, in my hotel room”, I replied,”, but I put on a hat
and a scarf and walked seventeen blocks for this?”
“Speaking of outfits”, he said, “ I’ve never seen such an outfit
on a person. You call that a coat?...”
He was about to go into a withering monologue about my coat,
but I interrupted and launched into my dead-on Jackie Mason
impersonation of him making fun of my coat, which would be
useless to write down, because it wouldn’t be funny, because
you’d have to hear it.
When I’d finished, Jackie nodded a few times and said, “You
don’t have enough faith in yourself, you have to borrow my
personality?”
To which I replied, “Now that you mention it, I’d rather borrow
your coat.”And we laughed and we laughed until they threw us
out of the Starbucks.
________________________________________________________
November 1-5, 2005
George was doing gigs in the New York/New Jersey area to
prepare for his HBO Special, so we spent some time in the Big
Apple.
As I always do when I’m in town, I called my old friend and
master comedian, Jackie Mason, to see if we could hang out. It’
s always great to hang with Jackie, because you know you’ll
have a million laughs, some great show-biz stories, heated
political discussions, and of course, at some point in the
evening, insults to your self-esteem.
This time, I didn’t have to wait to see him to get the insult. I’d
left a message on his voicemail, and received this reply from
Jackie on my machine a few hours later:
“Hello hello, it’s Jackie Mason. Well, you’re not gonna believe
it, but I’m glad to hear you’re in town. It shows how desperate I
am for company that I’m happy about something like this. For
most people this would be a calamity, but for me it’s great
news.
Anyway, I’ll be at the coffee shop later doing nothing. I know
you’re accustomed to doing nothing, so maybe later we can
meet and we can do nothing together.”
So we hung out later in a coffee shop with his friends Bob and
Charlie. We had a great time, and I actually said something
which made everybody laugh real hard. At which point Jackie
pointed at me and said to his friends, “See? What’d I tell ya.
Once a year.”
Whenever I’m in New York, I run into at least one interesting
street person. Sure enough, I was talking to Bob and Charlie on
91st and Broadway when a seedy looking guy sauntered up and
said;
“Hey, excuse me, don’t be afraid, I don’t want any money.”
Okay, so what can we do for you?
“I’m a diabetic. Can I have some money?”
Well, the logic was clear. Since he didn’t want any money, but
he wanted money, we gave him some money.
IN THE NEWS:
Dick Cheney’s top adviser, Scooter Libby, pleaded innocent of
charges that he obstructed justice, lied under oath and stole his
nickname from a seven-year-old Bronx boy wearing a propeller
cap. To protect themselves, the White House is considering
replacing Scooter from among several candidates, including
Tipper Gore, Fibber McGee, PooPooHead Brown and
Boogernose Leibowitz,
JUST A THOUGHT:
Almost every day, we’re hearing about Bird Flu and how there’s
a distinct possibility that it will kill about seven hundred million
people, and that’s just in Brooklyn. So my question is, how
come we’re not on Orange Alert? Whenever there’s a threat of
a terrorist plot, we go on Orange Alert. Shouldn’t there be an
alert for a disease that could wipe out half of the United States?
Osama Bin Laden gets his own security color code, but I can’t
protect my family from a rabid chicken? Get on it, willya? I’m
at KFC, and I’m nervous.
See ya next time. - DB
________________________________________________________
September 23,2005
We were doing a show in Oklahoma City. I did my set and, as I
usually do, went out for a walk to find someplace to eat while
George was onstage.
I came back an hour later, expecting George to be winding up
his set. I instead, I walked into the theater to the incessant
“WOOOOOOP…WOOOOOOP…WOOOOP!” sound of a fire
alarm. Instead of being onstage, George greeted me with a
cheery “Hi” outside the dressing room.
Apparently, while George was on, a fight had broken out
between two drunks in the lobby. Security intervened and
threw them both out, but not before one of them pulled the fire
alarm on his way out the door. The alarm went on for about 45
minutes, since no one could figure out how to reset the damn
thing without setting it off all over again. The alarm had also cut
all power to the sound system, so the show, as they say, could
not go on. George came out about halfway through, explained
the situation to the audience, told three filthy jokes without
benefit of a microphone, and retreated to the wings.
Mercifully, power was restored and George went on with the
show, to the relief of the crowd, every member of which had
stayed through it all. And me? I never got a damn thing to eat.
________________________________________________________
August 10, 2005
I came into Vegas to do two shows with a friend of mine at a
little club to try out some new material. The only problem was,
the owner of the club had forgotten to tell us the average age of
the audience was “dead two years”. There was one young
whippersnapper who was about 87, but the rest of the crowd
was considerably older and, by the looks of them, cranky.
Yeah…my new Robert Plant joke would go over great with
these people. I couldn't wait to try out my “Did you ever do
ecstasy?” routine.
The first show began. My comic friend and I did some warm up
jokes, which met with huge waves of indifference. We then
went straight to the impressions. The only problem was, our
“impressions” of celebrities were song parodies where we, of
course, changed the lyrics to the songs they knew and loved
and made a complete mockery of both the songs and the
performers.
We found out quickly that elderly people don’t appreciate this.
Older audiences seem to want their celebrity impressions true
to life and faithful to the originals. They don’t, for instance, want
to hear Tony Bennett sing: “I LEFT MY HEART / IN SAN
FRANCISCO / I LEFT MY NOSE / IN PARIS FRANCE / I LEFT MY
LIVER AND MY SPLEEN DOWN SOUTH IN NEW ORLEANS”“.
They don’t want to hear Connie Francis sing “Where’s the Ex-
Lax?”. And they definitely don’t appreciate watching Elvis
Presley throw up during a Taco Bell commercial. So, the
elderly people in the audience did the only thing they could do
under the circumstances….they rioted. Theyalso cancelled the
second show. But in my defense, they loved the ecstasy bit…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------
Got a visit backstage from my old friend Tony D’Andrea, a fine
comic with a strange mind, which means we get along just
fine. We were telling stories about the “old days” with Rodney
Dangerfield, when we all used to hang out.
Tony told about how he was hanging out with Rodney once,
driving around together in a car. They were shooting the
breeze about nothing in particular, laughing, having a great ol’
time, when Rodney gets a twinkle in his eye, turns to Tony and
begins this dialog:
RODNEY:
“Hey, Tony…am I great or what?”
TONY:
“Yeah, Rodney, you’re the greatest.”
RODNEY:
“I’m the greatest, ain’t that right?”
TONY:
“No doubt about it. You’re the best, Rodney, there’s nobody
better.”
RODNEY:
“I’m the best, I’m the greatest, there’s no one better than me, I’
m the top of the heap, right Tony?”
TONY:
“You got it, Rodney, you are tops.”
RODNEY:
“So Tony…what the fuck am I doin’ hangin’ out with you?”
________________________________________________________
June 7, 2005 Stardust Hotel, Las Vegas
Every once in awhile I put something out there and an alert
audience member throws it back in my lap...
I opened the show at the Stardust with some shouted
greetings, yelling out to the crowd; "Are ya feeling alright!?
(YEEEAAAHHH!!) Are ya ready to rock and roll!!??
(YEEEAAAAHHH!!!) Then what are you doing at a comedy
show!!?"
To which someone in the audience yelled back. "Dave
Matthews was sold out."
________________________________________________________
May 20-23 2005
We performed at the civic auditorium in Wichita Kansas, where
I had one of my favorite show business memories.
About six years ago I was opening for George at this same
theater. There was also a party next door where an Elvis
impersonator in full ‘70’s Elvis gear was performing.
At one point in my show, someone yelled out for me to do
Elvis. I did my Elvis parody, and then was about to move on
when suddenly the audience went nuts, laughing, screaming,
applauding. What the hell was going on….?
I turned around and saw the Elvis impersonator from the party
walking across the stage and heading straight toward me. He’d
been watching from the wings and when he heard my Elvis bit,
he decided to come on out. As the audience hooted, Elvis
came up to me, grabbed the microphone, and said to me, “Hey
…Can I have your autograph?” I gave it to him; he thanked me,
and walked offstage to huge applause.
Hoping against hope, I closed my eyes and yelled “Pamela
Anderson!” into the microphone. But she didn’t appear. I
guess Elvis was all I was getting that night.
MAY 6-8, 2005
Did a few East Coast dates this weekend, which means we
stayed in New York City overnight. Weather was beautiful, and
I took a walk around Manhattan for awhile. The usual platoons
of street people were out and about, always interesting, always
entertaining. The signs they carry have a certain sameness …
“Will Work For Food”, “Hungry”, or “Why Lie, I Need A Beer”.
The guy I gave money to this time was a true original though...a
black guy who came up to me with a Dixie cup outstretched
and a smile on his face, saying…
“Excuse me, would you like to make a donation to the United
Negro Pizza Fund”?
Of course I did. Gladly.
George had a great story about a street guy about a year ago
who was standing outside a grocery store in Manhattan.
George said he went to give him a ten dollar bill, but the guy
wouldn’t take it. He turned to George and said, ‘No, no, I need
you to go inside the store and buy me some food for lunch.”
So George went inside, bought some cold cuts, bread and a
dozen eggs, and gave them to the guy. The guy looked at the
eggs, turned to George and said, “How the hell am I supposed
to cook those?!”
And you thought all that money went to booze and drugs
________________________________________________________
April 15, 2005
Nothing amusing or interesting happened on the road this
weekend. To make up for it, I decided to give you an old road
story from my days opening for Rodney Dangerfield in the
eighties (from my unpublished book, "Me First"). Happy Tax
Day, everybody! - DB
Rodney and I were on our way to a show in Dallas, and the limo
was late picking us up. To make matters worse, we
immediately got stuck in heavy traffic, and it looked as if we'd
be late for the show. Rodney told the driver to go up on the
shoulder of the highway and bypass the other cars. The driver
was reluctant to break the law in this way, but after some gentle
coaxing by Rodney ("I'll pay for the fucking ticket, just go!"), the
driver took the shoulder route. Motorists were yelling and
screaming obscenities at us as we passed.
After about ten minutes we hit a nail or something and got a flat
tire. So here we were in this huge stretch limo stuck on the
side of the highway, with all the motorists we'd passed now
passing us, snickering and flipping us the finger. Rodney hid
his face in his hands, embarrassed by the whole thing.
But the fact remained that we were still running late and had to
get to the theater somehow, so Rodney decided to bite the
bullet. We grabbed our bags and got out of the limo as Rodney
tried to flag down anyone who would stop. I couldn't help
noticing some of the expressions on the faces of the passing
motorists. They seemed to say things like, "Jeez, that guy
looks like Rodney Dangerfield. Nahh, couldn't be, he'd be in a
limo.", as they kept right on going.
Finally, he flagged down a guy driving the most godforsaken,
dilapidated pickup truck I'd ever seen. It was covered with
grime from at least 1962 and spat out gray, noxious smoke from
the tailpipe. There were actually rust spots on the windshield.
But it was a ride, and we were desperate.
The driver, who from the looks of him has probably appeared
on several episodes of "Cops" by now, spat out some tobacco
juice as he let us in, while exclaiming, "Shit, you ain't that
Roger Dangerford, are ya?" Then he pulled out, his truck
backfiring all the way down the Interstate. He just couldn't
believe he had a celebrity in his vehicle. "Shit, my wife's gonna
die! Roger Dangerford, in my truck! My wife's just gonna shit!
Hey Roger, you wanna beer?"
"No thanks man", Rodney said as he began to cough
uncontrollably. "Just get us there before these fumes kill us,
okay?"
He did. We made it. And I guess that night, our driver's wife
just shat.
________________________________________________________
APRIL 8-10, 2005
CONNECTING FLIGHT TRUISMS:
Weary airplane traveler, if you’ve ever felt alone in your
suffering, believe me, you are not alone. I feel your pain. The
following 4 truisms about connecting flights have happened to
me many times (most recently this weekend). I hope they
bring you the comfort that comes with the knowledge that your
grief is shared.
TRUISM #1:
If you have a long layover between flights (at least an hour and
a half or more), the gate for your connecting flight will be right
next to the gate where you landed. You’ll be so bored by the
wait that you’ll fall asleep and almost miss the flight (happened
to me last year).
TRUISM #2:
If you have a short layover between flights (half an hour or
less), the gate for your connecting flight will be seven miles
away in another terminal in another building (this has never
NOT happened to me).
TRUISM #3:
If you have two connecting flights with a short layover in
between, the first flight will always be delayed. If this happens,
when you land, you’ll have to run at full speed with two heavy
pieces of carry-on luggage to get to your gate (see Truism #2).
TRUISM #4:
If your first flight is on time and the connecting flight is delayed,
that flight will be delayed at least five hours. After two hours,
you will get hungry and walk to the donut shop, which by now
will be closed. You will finally reach your destination at 3 A.M,
but it won’t matter because you’ll have died of starvation.
Feel free to print out these truisms and hand them to the gate
agents next time this happens to you. It’ll make a difference,
because they really care…almost as much as that automated
phone voice that says “Your Call is Important To Us”.
Your pal, Dennis
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY
My 87-year-old mom came to the gig tonight and, although I
love her dearly, embarrassed the crap out of me.
The greatest thing about my mom is that she says whatever
comes to her head without any editing. As we were walking
backstage, George popped his head out and said hello. My
mom took one look at him and blurted out, “Hey George, you
look good…I could really go for you!” I immediately led her
away and stuffed her with bean dip and cola before she could
say anything else.
I did my show, and as I came offstage George popped his head
out again and said, “Hey Dennis, your mom just gave me a
blow job in the dressing room”.
What a kidder!
________________________________________________________
March 30, 2005
I was delayed for 3 ½ hours on a layover from Milwaukee to
Grand Rapids. For those of you who have gone through this
sort of thing (and I know you’re out there), here’s my “What The
Airlines Say to What They Really Mean” Dictionary.
WHAT THEY SAY:
Flight 1907 to Grand Rapids has been delayed due to weather
conditions in the area. We will have an update at 8 PM.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
There are hail stones the size of chimpanzees killing people in
Michigan. No way in hell we’re getting out of here before
midnight.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 8PM:
Ladies and gentlemen, we expect this storm to blow over by 8:
30. We’ll let you know at 9 PM when you can begin the boarding
process.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
By 9 PM we hope the pilot will have walked off his Heineken
buzz. Meanwhile, the hailstorm has caused 100-foot tidal
waves. Everyone in Michigan is dead.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 9 PM:
The storm is dying down, but your aircraft needs some routine
maintenance. We’ll update you at 10 PM.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
We can’t find the goddamn crew. One of the air traffic
controllers went berserk and refuses to land any planes unless
Morgan Freeman marries his sister.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10 PM:
Routine maintenance has been completed, and the pilots are
just finishing up their paperwork. We appreciate your patience,
and we will get you to your destination as soon as they’re done.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
if we don’t get this goddamn plane in the air soon, we’re gonna
have to give these goddamn people vouchers for future travel
at two hundred bucks a pop, goddamn it! Put some seats in a
cargo plane, paint it blue and white and get Frank from luggage
to fly it!
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10:30 PM:
Passengers on flight 1907, we estimate departure time at 10:45.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
The crew just left the adult video arcade, the pilot can make
simple shapes with his fingers, and Morgan Freeman just
proposed.
WHAT THEY SAY AT 10:45:
Ladies and gentlemen, we regret the inconvenience. Enjoy
your flight.
WHAT THEY MEAN:
You all just waited 3 ½ hours to take a 30-minute flight. Next
time, RENT A CAR, YOU MORONS!
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 26, 2005
Well, just when you think you’ve seen everything, you go to
Portland Maine and find out they have a store that sells nothing
but condoms.
I was taking a walk in the 20 degree weather because, a) I’m an
idiot, and b) you never know what you’ll find in a new city.
Like today, right here in Portland, I found a store that sells
nothing but condoms.
To borrow a phrase from Dave Barry, I am not making this up.
The name of the store is “Condom Sense”. Get it? I can’t stop
laughing.
Several thoughts cross your mind when you find a store like
this. For instance, you wonder how easy it must be to get laid
in a city that has a store named “Condom Sense”. You wonder
if you can actually get laid right there in the store. You also
wonder what the “Everything Half Off” sign means.
The questions keep coming… Are there fitting rooms? Is there
an “irregulars” section? How about a service department?
These questions were all on my mind as I wandered inside to
do some early Christmas shopping.
I made my purchases, and the lady at the counter handed me a
receipt. A RECEIPT! Does a store that sells nothing but
condoms actually have a return policy? Are there people who
bring back defective condoms? What exactly would the
complaint be? “Yeah, I need to return these condoms, they’re
too big.”
or, “Hey, these condoms glow in the dark. We couldn’t get to
sleep all night.”
or, “My girlfriend left me. Can I exchange these condoms for
the Paris Hilton pencil-sharpener?”
By the way, I’m not being totally honest. This store does have
other items besides condoms. They also sell – this is not a
joke, I swear – they also sell pasta in the shape of boobs and
penises.
All I can say is…GO PORTLAND!!!
So I guess a typical evening in Portland might go like this…after
a hot session of wild sex with your day-glo, too-big condoms,
you saunter out to the kitchen for a lovely pasta dinner.
“Honey, do you like your penises soft or al dente?”, you ask.
“Al dente” she replies. “Oh, and could you please pass the
tits?”
Addendum:
I love the drivers and the guys that cart us around, because
they come in contact with all the show business stars and know
what they're really like offstage. I was talking to the driver at
one gig, who told me about a really famous comedian who
played in town recently and treated him, basically, like dirt. I
can’t mention his name, but according to the driver he had a
real attitude, thought he was better than everybody else, and
actually expected this driver to “wait outside in the 20-degree
cold by the limo car door for his whole show until he came
offstage.” So what was our driver’s response?
“Fuck that”, he said. “I’ll treat you with respect, I’ll do what I’m
paid to do, but I ain’t freezin’ my ass off for anybody, I don’t
care who it is.”
Another celebrity got pissed off because he had a town car, not
a limo. “Where’s my limo?” the outraged star said. “Whaddya
need it for…you’re only goin’ twenty feet!”, came the reply.
There are many stories about celebrities who are nice and
decent and civil, but then you always get the idiot who starts
believing his own press and making drivers stand out in the
cold. I always root for these people to go down in flames, and
sometimes, they actually do. Just not enough of them to
satisfy me. That’s why there will always be comedy to be
made!
Always remember: People in show business are just like
everyone else…we’re just more brightly lit.
Tune in again next time, when I’ll be reporting from the
Milwaukee Vibrator Emporium.
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 20 2005
Rehab Blues...George is still recovering from his stint in rehab I
guess, because he blew out this weekend's dates. To keep
myself from going nuts, I went to Vegas and did a guest spot at
a friend's club, and had what was for me a proud moment in
heckler-handling history.
Some guy was mouthing off, and I was having my usual fun
going one-on-one with him to the audience's delight. At one
point he got up and left, and I figured I'd prevailed. But he
returned to his seat about two minutes later, having gone to the
bathroom, and now had a wad of toilet paper wrapped around
his head. For some reason, he thought this would show me
up. Instead, I just looked at him and said, "Gee...I guess that
would make you a shithead."
________________________________________________________
March 11-12
We played San Antonio and Fort Worth Texas this weekend. It
was an uneventful trip, except for two things…
INCIDENT #1: EARLY WAKEUP CALL
I was awakened much too early in my Fort Worth hotel room for
one of the stupidest reasons I can remember.
You can stay in a nice, fancy five-star hotel, or in the sleaziest
roadside Motel 6, but they all have the same thing in
common…the “Do Not Disturb” sign is totally meaningless.
Maids knock, I ignore. But then they call and say “Sir, when
would you like your room cleaned?” And I say, “Oh, I don’t
know, how about WHEN I TAKE THE DAMN “DO NOT DISTURB”
SIGN OFF MY DOORKNOB!!??”
Anyway, I had fallen asleep at around 3:30 AM Saturday, so you
can imagine how thrilled I was to hear someone pounding at
my door at 9 AM. I politely yelled
“AMMFGGGHHRGGMM!!!”, which is sleep-deprived for “Go
Away!!” The pounding stopped, to be replaced five minutes
later by my phone ringing. I answered it, saying
“MMGGHHFFRRGGHH??” into the receiver. It was the lady at
the front desk, telling me there was an emergency and that
engineering had to get into my room to fix my closet door.
I have a list of emergencies that I carry in my wallet at all
times. “Broken Closet Door” is way down on the list, right
below “Crooked Tissue Box”. Sure, it’s an inconvenience, but
if I’m in a room and the closet door breaks, my chances of
survival are excellent. I’ve turned on the hotel channel on my
TV, and they always tell me what to do in case of a fire or a
tornado or an overflowing toilet. Not once have I heard them
say, “If your closet door breaks, don’t panic…stay low to the
floor, take what clothing you’re able to salvage and get out of
the room immediately.”
So I explained to the nice lady on the phone that I work at night,
and I need my sleep, so please have engineering go do
something useful like unscrewing every third light bulb in the
hallway, and then, much, much later, come back and fix my
closet door. Or don’t. I could give a crap.
INCIDENT #2: OPENING ACT NIGHTMARE
The lights go down in the theatre, and the crowd goes wild,
anticipating the triumphant entrance of their hero, George
Carlin. An announcement comes over the loudspeaker;
“Please make welcome George Carlin’s special guest…Dennis
Blair!!”
Except what the audience hears is:
“Please make welcome George Carlin!...”
Because the “Dennis Blair” part has been drowned out by the
crowd screaming in anticipation of seeing their hero, George
Carlin, walk out.
And then I walk out. And I look nothing like George. And the
reaction of the audience goes from delight to confusion to
anger to hatred.
It sounds like this:
“YAAAAAAAYHUUUUUUHHH???OOOOOOOH!!BOOOOOOOO!!!”
Well, after I quickly explained to the good people in that Fort
Worth audience that George wasn’t here yet and I was his
special guest and could you please let me live and Forth Worth
is the BEST DAMN CITY IN THE WORLD….everything went
fine.
But I think from now on, I’m hiring someone to come out with a
sign with my name printed on it…preferably a young blonde in
a bikini tossing tootsie rolls and dollar bills to the crowd.
Meanwhile…
IN THE NEWS:
Michael Jackson showed up at the courthouse wearing pajamas
today. You know, there’s no better way to show the world that
you’re not the freak everyone thinks you are by coming to your
court date in a flannel nightie. Way to go, Mike!
Well, until next time, take care and keep your closet doors in
working order.
Your pal, Dennis
________________________________________________________
March 4-5
Finally back on the road after George’s 12-week stint in rehab. I
had had nightmares about George showing up at the airport
chanting “Hare Krishna” and wearing a dashiki and love beads,
so it was a relief to see him with his NFL jacket and his same
old edge.
It was a little odd getting back in the swing of telling jokes, but it
all clicked in just in time for the shows in Hagerstown
Maryland.
Went to a Chinese restaurant between shows where the waiter
didn’t understand English. This would be fine, except he didn’t
understand my order, which was weird because it was on the
menu. Granted, it was in English, but it was on the damn menu!
I ordered shrimp with lobster sauce and he looked at me like I’d
told him his father was a hamster. He finally went away, and I
prayed he wouldn’t bring me a dog leg with a side order of wire
mesh. He didn’t.
Played Washington DC the next night. Our driver was an ex-
cop who’d killed a guy ten years ago during a robbery attempt. I
made sure not to make any sudden moves. I don’t know what it
is about me that makes ex-cops open up and tell me about the
people they’ve killed, but I’m glad I can bring out their sensitive
side. I told him about the Chinese waiter who didn’t understand
my order. He offered to kill him for me. I said it really wouldn’t
be necessary, since the lobster was delicious.
The shows were fun to do. What a shame the President didn’t
show up for the DC shows. If he hangs out with guys like Bono,
he would’ve had a blast with us. At least George and I take our
damn sunglasses off while we’re doing ipod commercials.
Martha Stewart got out of jail this weekend, possibly to make
room for Robert Blake. I hope she’s learned her lesson; If you
commit a crime, your net worth will increase dramatically and
you’ll get a deal to do two reality shows. That’ll teach her.
Well, all’s right with the world. But you didn’t hear it from me.
Tune in for more road stories in the coming weeks.
Your pal, Dennis
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