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Mon, May 01


@ 12:00 AM

Normally, I'd have updated this thing every single day of the tour. But, the day I had to leave (April 18th) the keyboard on my laptop went haywire (no thanks to the douchebags at Melrose Mac). Basically, the "q" key randomly fires "q"s into whatever I'm writing, especially after I hit "a" or "w". And since I tend to type very fast, I have to constantly go back and remove q's. It's fucking maddening. If I type...very...slow...the problem isn't as bad, but then my thoughts pile up, and quickly drive me molar-mulching mad. Mad, I tell you!

Here, I'm going to write something without going back and fixing the problem:

"Aqlbert ehw waqyqwqqard qastronaqut went to qqqAqtlaqntis in winnebaqgo."

See? Fuck!

But holy SHIT, this last tour took us from depths of misery to heights of triumph, with stops in the middle for boredom, confusion, and frustration. Thank you everyone for coming out. Let's recap, and then I'm going to drink away all these q's:



We arrived in Cleveland on the same day the SPIDER-MAN 3 crew appeared to shoot some scenes. Maybe Brian and I's combined nerd energy caused it.

I've been obsessed with the Norton Furniture ads for a few weeks, since a fan sent me a link.

Yes, Mark of Norton Furniture is a god to insomniacs in the Cleveland area, so it made sense for me to open the show by doing him honor. And by "doing him honor," I mean "holding a roadie's balls."

And the show was amazing. We were in a good mood. Good way to start. Thank you, Cleveland. And thank you for giving us Harvey Pekar, Harlan Ellison, Wes Craven, and the guys who created Superman.

And now, some awards:

The Screaming Hobbit in the lobby restaurant of the Cleveland Hilton. Just as we were finishing breakfast (and during which we noticed he was angrily mumbling to himself) he started yelling at, generally, the kitchen staff, for talking to each other while they worked.


"I hope I'm not READING TOO LOUD FOR YOU," he spat, in the general direction of the kitchen. "Fucking RETARDS." When a couple of waiters inquired if there was a problem, he stood up and said, "Yeah. This isn't a hotdog stand in the fucking ghetto."

Maybe I should mention that the two waiters in question were black.


"People pay more to stay here for one night than you assholes make in a week." I doubt anyone's living on $73 a week, but Screamy McBilbo seemed pretty confident. Eugene and I immediately headed for a hotdog stand in the ghetto. Bilbo was right about that — there is a distinct difference between the Hilton and a hot dog stand.

Then we met fans from the show in front of Norton Furniture, where we met Mark, looked at four floors of discount furniture, and got T-shirts. Mark showed us his new ad, and I petted his cute dog. Also, we handed out hot dogs to fans. None of them screamed at us.



A triumph. Personally, for me (the standing ovation wiped the "getting booed offstage" pretty nicely). And for the whole show. What an amazing crowd. And on a rainy Friday! Guess what? I love Pittsburgh. And now, some awards:

THE HAUNTING OUR DREAMS FOR THE NEXT 48 HOURS AWARD TO: The rack of heads in the costume shop where we bought Henry's hippie outfit. Those hollow, ghoul-filled eye sockets...


When we drove from Pittsburgh to Detroit I was reminded how the landscape of America is a slave to the sky. If the weather's with you, it's a postcard. If it's dark and gloomy like our drive, you're in Half Life 2.


Luckily, Detroit was creepy and disturbing enough to make us forget the drive. I think ROBOCOP might have been a documentary. Yikes.

But the show was fun. It's just that there was always the potential for the crowd to rush the stage, and express their love with baseball bats and breezeblocks. Even the fans we met on the street seemed happy and angry at the same time. "Hey! Hey, I like you! Come here, motherfucker! I'm buying you a beer! Now! Goddamit!"


Sunday was a day off in Ann Arbor. It rained. But it was sunny in Detroit and raining urine and hammers in Ann Arbor, I'd take Ann Arbor.

We went to Zingerman's and had macaroni and cheese with a potato chip crust. It was the Personification Of The Midwest, Part One. Part Two was in our future.


The Temple Club in Lansing. It loomed over the tortilla-flat streets like a lanky drunk. Lansing has this post-apocalyptic, abandoned charm that reminds me of Stephen King's THE STAND.

Inside the club it was fun. Afterwards, not so fun.

Someone stole Brian's Mr. Show tour jacket and cell phone. So many suspects. Was it a random fan who wandered into the non-policed green room? Maybe the employee who made it a point to say, "Nice jacket" to Brian? Or was it the ex-employee who showed up, drunk, and tried to pick a fight with our tour manager?


Hercule Poirot is one of my favorite fictional characters. But he was always solving clever poisonings of dowagers. We had to track down a cell phone and a jacket.

Me and two security guys (one of whom had beaten up the ex-employee earlier in the evening) drove around, first to the ex-employee's house, where we called the cell phone and listened for the Metallica song that Brian uses for a ring tone. We also lurked near his car. While we were gone, Eugene and Maria kept their eyes on the other employees.


Hey Lansing, find that fucking jacket.

Depressing. Quick, here's a picture of me with a monkey. Feeling better? Let's go to Louisville.


The shittiness of Lansing was soothed by the complete awesomeness of Louisville. I don't know what to say about a show that's so perfectly perfect as the show we did at Headliner's. We'll be back sums it up. At least, I'll be.


Okay, wait a second here.

The morning after the Louisville show, we went to get comics.

The shop we went to on Bardstown road was staffed by friendly people. And it sucked.

FLAG YOUR NEW COMICS. This is another comic book store — and there's not a lot — where they just randomly put shit in the racks, without flagging what's the new stuff on a Wednesday. Which means you will miss stuff. How fucking hard is it to shove yellow cardboard with a "NEW THIS WEEK" thingie on it?

Sure enough, Brian and I missed books, and had to make up for them in Champaign.

Indy was a pleasant show in a pleasant venue. The Music Mill. It smelled better than we did.


Before the show we did a fun in-store at Luna Music. Someone showed me a copy of "222" that they had, with a 'THIS DUDE WILL BE HERE' sticker on it. They gave me a bunch of stickers that I could put on CDs in the store with my name on the sticker, to recommend stuff I like. I put Brian's name on a bunch of stickers, and stuck 'em on CDs. Brian likes Ani di Franco, Madonna, Enya, and John Cougar. Go buy something! Tell 'em Brian sent you!

At the venue, the management brought us a brain-sized pile of fries and cheese that was Personification Of The Midwest, Part 2. Look at that fucking thing!


Take a bow, Champlain. You're the worst show the CoC has ever done (move over, Gainesville and Atlantic City!) and definitely in my top 5.

That's a pic of Eugene and Maria right before the show. That's the last time they smiled.

I want to apologize to the 90% of the crowd that were cool, smart, and knew how to handle their goddamn liquor. I'd go on, but I have to give out some awards:

THE ENTITLED CUNT AWARD: Way to go, Blonde Chick Wearing a Sort of Pearl Wrist-band! Not only did you ceaselessly scream out shit during every comedian's act, but you bullied your way onstage for a bit with Eugene Mirman that you proceeded to ruin. Later, you said (loudly), "Let's fucking LEAVE" when you realized — three minutes into a bit — that I was making fun of George Bush. It took you that long to figure out my "support" was ironic? Please, please hurry up and get pregnant, fat, and vaguely disappointed with your life.

THE FAN YOU DON'T WANT AWARD: "Logan," get up here! Way to go, champ! Thanks for loudly screaming out so many of my punchlines before I could say them! And EXTRA-special thanks for hanging out afterward for an autograph, getting in my face, and insisting you were helping the show. And I wish I could make you a special award for, when I tried to explain to you that you shouldn't ruin your "favorite comedian's" set by screaming out punchlines, you held up your SEVERED AT THE ELBOW LEFT ARM and screamed, "THIS is why I get to ruin your act, motherfucker!"

I'm not making that last story up.

And, finally, the MAYBE THE TERM "FLY-OVER STATE" IS CORRECT AWARD: To the High Dive!

Your security was gracious and attentive. I'm serious. Your manager and bar staff were friendly and supportive. They made us very excited to be there, and we were looking forward to a good show. Your sound man was proactive, and fixed an early speaker glitch and apologized for the fuck-up. The girl who worked the merch table was a sweetie-pie, and your deejay played pre-show ambient music and post-show exit music that perfectly set the mood.

What does all the preceding good work mean? It means diddly-shit.

I found out, from some fans after the show, that you sent out an e-mail to all the ticket holders that said, "These comedians like rowdy hecklers!"

That's right. One of Eugene's fans is going to forward this e-mail to him tonight or tomorrow, and I'll post it on the board. Again, I wish I were making this up, but apparently I'm not. Maybe I'm wrong. I have a feeling I'm not. I'll know in a few hours.

The club ENCOURAGED heckling, disruption, and drunkedness. For a comedy show. Way to go, shitbags.

I liked Champlain. I want to come back. But never, EVER, to the High Dive.

As a final reminder of just how bad it was, here's the above-mentioned e-mail. This was forwarded to me by a fan:

Please note...Doors will now open at 7:30pm for tonight's show with The Comedians of Comedy. Up until today it was listed as 8:00pm doors, but we have amended it to (hopefully) avoid a long line.

Also, please be aware that this is not a typical "sit-down" comedy show. There will not be extra tables and chairs (as per request of the comedians). They greatly prefer the bar environment so that it doesn't feel like a high school graduation.

They like their fans to be drunk and heckling them believe it or not!

THANKS!! Highdive.


This is a picture of me being carried around by the crowd in Chicago. The sold-out crowd. The sold-out crowd at the SECOND show. It was the best show of the tour, and maybe the best show I ever did.

For the rest of this entry, try to imagine the word "COMEDY" rendered as a happy boner. That was Chicago. And that was the tour.

See you later in the summer!

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