Dear All Comedians...You Should Quit Now. Dave Chappelle can cover for ALL of us.
This weekend, from Thursday to Saturday evening, I was the featuring act for Lizz Winstead at Punchline in San Francisco. It was my first time there. I was incredibly excited. The shows were great, Lizz was awesome as always, and all was very well...
...up until Dave Chappelle decided to have a midnight comedy show after our two Saturday shows. That's when my world blew to glorious shit.
(I apologize for the lack of intelligence, or at least valuable word choice. If you'd seen what I just had, you'd also be a verbal vegetable.)
Watching Dave perform is like watching god fuck the clouds and then have it rain unbearable but necessary wisdom and joy.
The human form is incapable of extended habitation in a such a place. And such is the challenge of watching Dave perform. It's simply too good.
Two hours of what was probably going to be a five hour impromptu Chappelle show, that was enough for me. I have a plane to catch in 3 hours anyway. I'm tired. I may not sleep in order to ensure I'm awake to get to the damn flight. Oh my god, I'm loopy now. I've done five shows this week at this amazing club. And now I go.
But only after I get to see the one person on this planet whose stand up performances are so awe inspiring they force me consider quitting, and to then go door to door to all other comedians and share some literature with them about the work of the Great Leader Dave and how they'd be doing their country and culture a service by simply finding another line of work.
"Mr. Dave's got us all covered!" I'd shout from outside a fellow comedian's premises. "You should really think about a career in fridge and air conditioning repair! Or you can spread the Good Word just like me!"
As I dove to avoid the shots that would then be pinging off nearby rocks, I'd take comfort in my new path, in the knowledge that no matter what horrible, awful fate befell me...Dave Chappelle would be able to casually toss off the funniest thing anyone would ever hear about my circumstances and then continue on for another four hours, leaving to a standing ovation that would make the 2004 Red Sox World Series crowd seem sleepy-eyed by comparison.
Dave, I love you.
But I also hate you.
But also, I love you.
...up until Dave Chappelle decided to have a midnight comedy show after our two Saturday shows. That's when my world blew to glorious shit.
(I apologize for the lack of intelligence, or at least valuable word choice. If you'd seen what I just had, you'd also be a verbal vegetable.)
Watching Dave perform is like watching god fuck the clouds and then have it rain unbearable but necessary wisdom and joy.
The human form is incapable of extended habitation in a such a place. And such is the challenge of watching Dave perform. It's simply too good.
Two hours of what was probably going to be a five hour impromptu Chappelle show, that was enough for me. I have a plane to catch in 3 hours anyway. I'm tired. I may not sleep in order to ensure I'm awake to get to the damn flight. Oh my god, I'm loopy now. I've done five shows this week at this amazing club. And now I go.
But only after I get to see the one person on this planet whose stand up performances are so awe inspiring they force me consider quitting, and to then go door to door to all other comedians and share some literature with them about the work of the Great Leader Dave and how they'd be doing their country and culture a service by simply finding another line of work.
"Mr. Dave's got us all covered!" I'd shout from outside a fellow comedian's premises. "You should really think about a career in fridge and air conditioning repair! Or you can spread the Good Word just like me!"
As I dove to avoid the shots that would then be pinging off nearby rocks, I'd take comfort in my new path, in the knowledge that no matter what horrible, awful fate befell me...Dave Chappelle would be able to casually toss off the funniest thing anyone would ever hear about my circumstances and then continue on for another four hours, leaving to a standing ovation that would make the 2004 Red Sox World Series crowd seem sleepy-eyed by comparison.
Dave, I love you.
But I also hate you.
But also, I love you.
Labels: Dave Chappelle, drink at work, Punchline, San Francisco, stand up, why bother
posted by The Crespo at 5:21 AM
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2 Comments:
I get the same feeling reading Ken Bruen. I despair of ever writing that beautifully and lyrically.
Then I get back to the keyboard and get back to work.
Yeah, I'm back at it, but damn if that isn't going to haunt me the rest of my days.
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