London has a thriving comedy scene and performing was a dream but the type of dream where your aunt and your boss are interchangeable characters. Weird. Because some jokes they didn't get and some I didn't get, mainly because of cultural differences, colloquialisms, and other strange intricacies. For example, one wonderful female comic told a joke about a middle class store named TK Maxx and I didn't get it because I’d never heard of the store. Later, I found out it was the British version of our store, TJ Maxx. How lame. Anyway, she explained to me the fare of the store and I responded that it was like our American, Target, K-Mart or Walmart. And she said, “Oh, Walmart, that’s where the Mexicans work for 200 dollars a week.” Yes!!! Ahhh...Walmart. Internationally known oppressive bastards.

But things are definitely different over in merry ole... They have royalty and shit. I met this very funny comic, Crispin Flintoff, and he told me this cool story. Yo!! Check it... Respect...

So Cris’ grandfather was aristocracy. See the grandfather’s dad was an Earl or a Duke and he boned a chambermaid that was set to do his bidding. Anyway, this poor soul had their kid but since it was out of wedlock, the Dukeship couldn’t claim it as his own. So, the grandfather lived his early life with no father. Then, when he was about thirty, he realized the truth about his legacy. Having learned he was priviledged, he got connected with a strange little group known for their connections to the Vatican Bank, the Illuminati, the New World Order, world domination and a few other of the sketchiest and choice subjects known to man; that’s right, The Freemasons. So Gramps was a major player with the Freemasons for most of his adulthood and when he died, they found all kinds of crazy shit like robes and hoods and these crazy parchments and one enormous scroll. And on the scroll was written a ton of names. Just a ton. And one of the names was the grandfather. And at the top of the massive listed scroll was a header written in embellished Old English. It read....

Here Within the Freemasons is the Order of the Grand Bastards.

Am I the only one who finds it strange that the Freemasons list their bastards? And judging by the supposed enormity of the scroll, a lot of these Dukes are fucking their maid servants. I always thoughts that the Freemasons were bunch of fucking bastards who needed help but I guess their actually a bunch of grand bastards who are fucking the help.

There are two kinds of jokes, in general. Ones that make fun of the world and ones that make fun of oneself by comparing one to applicable phrases not normally associated with a person. Listed below are three examples of the “I” formula. Frankly, they are bad jokes but this is an exercise, an excuse, no, an exercise. Three examples that I take full credit for.

- I’m such a flake, Kellogg's asked me to be their spokesperson.
- I change my mind more than the Bunny Ranch changes the sheets.
- I’m so spoiled that if I were in a refrigerator, I would have tossed myself in the trash.

I know I have lived in LA with it’s freaks and weirdos for too long. See I went to New York for the holidaze and all I could think about was how I couldn’t wait to get back to LA where everyone was normal.

In New York, I had, let’s say, a learning experience. I had larengitis that developed from a previous cold the night of my last New York performance and I was drinking tea and honey all day in order to recoop for the gig. I had done the two nights before but for some reason my throat had just fallen apart that morning. So I was eeirily skeptical about promoting the show to my friends and family, altough this was the night I had previously suggested to everyone. Anyway, I got to the club and it was packed, so packed that none of my friends could come in. I didn’t realize I had to tell them to make reservations. The manager told me Chris Rock was coming by and I might be completely bumped but to come back at 10:30. It was 9. My friends and I went to a bar. Then went back to the club at 11. But the show was over, no Chris Rock, no nothing. The lesson is when they say 10:30, be there. And even though I could barely talk, I would have loved to tell some jokes to a packed house in NY. My bad. But I did get to see Molly again for the first time in 4 months. We played Ms. PacMan and joked about the String Cheese while discussing the finer points of Borat. And that was niiiiiice.