I've dealt with all kinds of people in my life, but never have I encountered people like the residents of Washington, D.C.
They are a people with almost no identity. Poor, yet think they're powerful. Corrupt, yet think they're doing good things in this world. Ugly, yet still refuse to look at me in the eye when I talk because my hideous face will cause vomiting.
While my career is going well here, the rest of my life is in shambles. I only go to bed at night sober at a maximum of one or two nights a week. I don't know how much lower on the Totem Pole of Pathetic I can possibly sink.
Speaking of pathetic, want to hear something that is pathetic? I've been here 6 months and I haven't hooked up once. Not once. Now, want to hear something even more pathetic? Something really, really pathetic? I haven't even kissed a girl since I moved here.
Oh god, it's so embarrassing. I'm not the greatest prize pig in the world, but I'm too young and too good-looking for this sorry shit to be happening.
Even homeless refugees in Darfur look down on me in shame. They stand there, almost catatonic with emaciated faces and protruding bellies, staring at me in disbelief as they sigh then comment, "Honestly, this is bullshit, Luke. Now, can you please get these fucking nutcase Muslims to stop killing us? This totally sucks shit right now."
It's gotten so bad I've been reduced to masturbating to cookbooks and VCR repair manuals because if I even look at a girl's face or body in a magazine or porno the unmistakable echo of "You're jacking off with Pert Plus in your bathroom because neither this girl nor any other girl in 600 mile radius would ever, ever fuck a fat loser like you" keeps repeating.
I initially stated the main problem with DC was the woman. That assessment was correct, but incomplete: it's both the women and the men.
Let's use a story to illustrate my point.
I was with some friends recently and we were all drinking at one of their apartments before going out in a part of D.C. known as the Golden Triangle. My friend is an officer in the Marines and a thorough caveman. As we're finishing our final ablutions before leaving, I notice he's wearing boots. Not ordinary boots mind you, but boots that'd you probably use to mix concrete or stomp gays. I looked at him incredulously and said, "There's no way you can get laid looking like you stumbled out of a JC Penny catalog that looks like it's been photoshopped into an image negative." I wagered I would hook up that evening and he wouldn't. I should've known that was a stupid bet when a roving wildebeest and Dodo bird told me they had 50 bucks on me crashing and burning.
We get to the bar and quickly meet a group of girls. The girls were actually very pleasant and after I introduced myself ("Hello, it's nice to meet you") they politely replied in unison "Drop dead, mouthbreather. When we're interested in cow tipping, we'll call your fat ass over. Until then, go graze elsewhere. And take your dragging-ass udders with you."
My friend who had previously wagered the bet with me was actually doing well. The prettiest girl in the group had taking a liking to him and he immediately recognized this, so he offered to go mix concrete with her, which she agreed to. Yet before they could start their cement mixing, they simultaneously realized they neither had concrete nor the knowledge to mix it. Confused by the lack of construction equipment, they decided the most logical course of action was for her to rapaciously suck his cock in public while staring at me.
As she took deep breaths from slobbering on his hog she would look up at him and say, "I love a man with elegant style." My friend was moved by her admission and lovingly responded, "Shut the fuck up and keep gagging yourself, whore." Shocked by his retort she exclaimed "Oh my God! You mean to tell me you can dress AND you're chivalrous? How did one girl get so lucky?" and then hid his cock and balls in her throat as if she were smuggling narcotics across the border. Dejected and fully aware I was going home alone, I began beating off to the draft beer menu alone in the corner.
The most ironic and equally sad part about the whole ordeal was that the bar we went to was called "Lucky Bar." I shit you not, that was the actual name. And as my "luck" would have it, that was true for everyone in the bar except me. In fact, the bar was so "lucky" that the entire place turned into a giant orgy at the stroke of midnight like some pornographic perverse-Cinderalla (which sounds like a move in Kama Sutra).
The only problem is that I was the odd man out, as if I had lost at a reverse game of musical chairs where the last man standing is standing uses his dick to stir his lukewarm Malibu and Pineapple since nothing else is going to touch it. The patrons of Lucky Bar, on the other hand, were busy beavers trying to fill every orifice, so I politely obliged their request and held their drinks for them while they burrowed into each other like chiggers.
What's my point? For starters, the women here have exceptionally poor taste. I've said this before about many places, but you know it's true when you consider whom they're hooking up with. Let's also keep in mind that pound for pound, this is the ugliest city in America. A volunteer groundskeeper asked me how we could improve the "beautification of our nation's capital." I told her to put a bag over every girl's head.
Now let's talk about the men.
For starters, put your fucking collar down, Shadrick. I know you saw a Kanye West video and think the best way to wear your pink Nautica shirt is to lay the collar out on your neck like it's a throw rug or because you're trying to give the back of your head a bib, but stop. Immediately. This collar up business on polo shirts may be the new "Von Dutch" craze, but that's all the more reason not to follow it.
Also, would you mind not singing "Sweet Caroline" at the top of your awful lungs everytime you've been flushed with enough Pabst Blue Ribbon to tranquilize a water buffalo? That'd be mighty nice of you.
Oh yeah, and I don't know who told you living in the suburbs was cool, but it's not. No really, it's not. It's really lame. Seriously. It's where dreams go to die. So take your "bridge and tunnel" ass back to the Chilis from whence you came.
I think you can start to get a picture of what I'm talking about.
I think what bothers me the most is that Washington, D.C. is a town that votes overwhelmingly liberal, yet is one of the most conservative metropolitan cities in America. Everyone, and I do mean nearly everyone, is so unbelievably bothered by the slightest indiscretion. Truth to be told, I generally offend people wherever I go, so that's nothing new. Yet, through hard work and perseverance, I've achieved new and heretofore unfathomable levels.
But to that I say:
MOTHERFUCKERS! You live in the murder capital of the goddamn Milky Way. Surely the innocuous shit I say cannot be that much of a fucking disturbance to your daily routine, can it? For fuck's sake, my neighborhood doesn't have burglars or muggers, it has insurgents. So, forgive the fuck out of my imprudence if I feel using the occasional F-word or uttering "titties" in public or mixed company doesn't weigh quite as heavily on my mind as the leathered up gimp who's locked me in his basement to check my prostate by doing the highly scientific "deep-balling" in and out method with his uncircumcised cock.
Maybe I just don't understand DC's idiosyncrasies. One would think the city's homely women would appreciate my unsolicited, unhelpful random street assessments such as "Get your tubes tied, skank. You're wasting everyone's time and you take up space at the bar that doesn't have to be filled up with boat loads of Ugly like it is when you're there." But no, they get all uppity.
Here's a crucial fact worth remembering: I cut my teeth in the NYC comedy scene (and regularly go back to perform), so the D.C. scene has been an adjustment to say the least. DC comedy, much like NYC comedy (or any major city/area for that matter) is a product of atmosphere. I'm not here to bag on DC comics. If less confrontational, less orthodox styles is what they believe constitutes good comedy, I am not here to challenge them in any way.
But I personally cannot partake in comedy that does little or nothing to advance discussion, challenge the status quo, faithfully represent some important and candid facts about me and ultimately, express the nature of reality as I see it (after careful consideration).
I am not suggesting DC comics aren't good. Quite the contrary many are very gifted. But there is something to be said for performing upwards of 20 spots a week around, quite literally, the top comics in the nation night after night after night. Put simply, that laboratory environment of experimentation, competition and ebullient creativity does not exist in DC, or at least not on equivalent levels. There is an analogous situation in DC to be sure, but at the end of the day there is no proper substitute for the gladiatorial Lyceum of New York comedy.
The good news is that while customs are different here, as long as you understand how they express themselves, you'll be fine. For example, in D.C. I've been able to determine (based on my performances) they demonstrate their approval by throwing bottles, walking out on your sets, and refusing to book you at clubs.
So what am I going to do? Honestly, I'm not sure.
The radio show's probably going to be a big break for me, so I need to keep that. I guess I just have to prepare myself to bomb a lot, which is nothing new of course.
As far as my love life goes, I've honestly given up. I just can't care anymore. If something falls in my lap, great. If not, that's great, too. I simply cannot make sense of women's thinking at this point and I'm not even going to try. It's too confusing and too painful since it reminds me of the cobwebs that are growing on my genitals from atrophy. I've even resorted to telling people the cobwebs are an STD outgrowth, just so I can say, "Look guys, I'm sexually active!" but usually the cops don't show interest and arrest me instead.
I guess what all this means is that I'm going to have to rough it out in D.C. I'm going to have to show people there's more to comedy than clowning on the weather or talking about women shopping. I'm going to have to convince people there's nothing to be afraid of in listening to someone you don't necessarily agree with. And I'm going to have to get a hooker, but because I'm almost out of the Pert Plus and tears I use to lube myself up.
