It Happened in Iowa: Part VII

It Happened in Iowa: Part VII

As mentioned before, I eventually worked up the courage to drive to Des Moines and try my hand at stand up. I think I performed at The Funny Bone, but I can not be sure for memory is fickle. Regardless, I do remember the open mic being held in a small side room. There was a bar in the back and tables in semicircle round stage. I paid the five dollar cover and tossed my name and number in the sign-up bucket. I grabbed a beer, and slumped down at an unoccupied table. The locals gathered around the bar. They laughed and chatted til the main event began. The MC brought up one terrible act after another. This included a nervous guitar player and a crazy old man who shouted about LSD, football, and everything between.

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It Happened in Iowa: Part III

It Happened in Iowa: Part III

At his point in my life I knew I was a degenerate, but I was not, a bad ass. I idolized the idea of being a degenerate. I wanted to embrace it so badly. I wanted to be a crazy druggy with crazy stories. I wanted to run from the police and set things ablaze. Yet, I played dungeons and dragons and said, ‘ablaze’ as opposed to ‘on fire.’ I remember one time when a cable guy was hooking up my modem and asked if I had a surge protector. I handed it to the pot bellied tech and said, “I foresaw such a need arising.” He look at me like I was the world’s most monumentally pretentious a-hole. I don’t mean the kind of rebel-without-a-cause-dunk-my-hairy-sack-in-your-beer-for-a-laugh kind of ass. No, his looked clearly said you-god-damn-hipster-a-hole. I badly wanted to be the love child of Ari Shaffir and Opie Winston, but in reality I was more like a depressed stoner Kevin Arnold, Cory Matthews hybrid. Despite my best efforts, I was only a part-time degen, and I knew it.

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