Monday, October 21, 2013

Me Doing Standup Comedy: So Bad, It Must Be True

I have made a fool out of myself on numerous occasions. This blog has been my way of sharing these stories of failure with my friends, family and basically anyone who will read.

 But the failure I am about to tell you about is so epic, so monstrous, so cringe-worthily terrible, that you may not believe it to be true.




 This week, I tried standup comedy.





Once, I ran into a glass wall, remember that?

I have failed at the gym (click here to read about it)

I have failed at mustache farming (in this post)

I failed at the gym a second time (in this post)

I have even tripped in public once before (read about it here)

In this post I laughed like a little girl (click here)

But none of those compare to what happened to me this weekend at the HumorU show here on BYU campus.

Did I get booed off the stage? Was rotten fruit rained down upon me like it was a Looney Toones scene?

No.

As a matter of fact my jokes were a hit.

But I had a tiny coordination problem when it came to getting up onto the stage.  But maybe I should start at the beginning.

You see, last week I got an email inviting me to audition for the HumorU fall show. I went, preformed my jokes for the club members, and the next day I got a second email telling me I had been approved, and that they wanted me to tell my jokes at their show.

I was very excited to be a "greenspotter" (non-clubmember on his first try) in a HumorU show. People were going to pay money to come see me (and a lot of more talented people) be funny!

We did 2 shows on Friday, and 2 shows on Saturday.

The opening Friday show pushed me to my limits of nervousness. While the crowd shuffled in, I was sure that I would forget all of my jokes and stammer like a Ute (the student, not the tribe) on stage until I was forcibly removed by an armed mob of angry BYU undergrads, incensed at the waste of money that my feeble attempt at humor had caused them.

However, when I slowly walked onto the stage, I felt the heat from the single spotlight, and I could hear the crowd settle into their chairs, ready to be entertained. I grabbed the mic stand, and I felt at home, as I would while joking with my wife in the kitchen.

I said funny things to the people; the people laughed.

I said more funny things; they laughed even more. I said all the funny things I had to say; the people applauded.

I have never felt so confident on a stage in my life. Which was surprising, because my jokes were only so-so. But, I had survived. I felt eager and optimistic about the second show of the evening.

As the second group of students scrambled for seats in the old lecture hall, I stood chomping at the bit in the hallway, ready to make them glad that they had come.

My name was announced.

I opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.

The applause of the crowd exploded; they loved me and hadn't even heard me!

I headed for the stage, ready to stand in front of that red curtain and do my magic.

I got so excited that I began to trot to the front of the room, anxious to summit the stage and spew my silliness.

I got closer.

I could feel the spotlight, begging to be stepped into.

I could almost feel the cold steel of the mic stand in my hand.



I tripped, and ran headfirst into the wall at which the spotlight was pointed. 

As I felt my head bash into the chalkboard that the curtain was covering up, I thought, "I knew it was all too good to be true. My non-awkward streak couldn't last forever, and it comes to an end here. Now. In front of all of these people."

I struggled to my feet and said into the microphone: "The best part of that entrance, is that none of you will know if it was intentional or not." The people laughed! They believed me!

Thinking that I had successfully played off the most ungracious display of physical movement in my short life, I started to tell my jokes.

And then the blood began to drip, slowly, onto my carefully-picked-out-just-for-my-standup-debut-cardigan.

A girl in the front row gasped in horror. I knew the jig was up. I felt like one of those old-timey burglars in striped pajamas who gets caught in a dead-end alley.





It was just at that moment of great alarm when my wonderful wife Julie came running up to the stage, wielding a tissue. She helped me cover the wound, and I feebly told the crowd I would be back, hopefully.

The next comedian ran up to the stage and began his material. I went to the bathroom. When the bleeding was stopped, I wrapped my head with six feet of toilet paper, so that I looked like a Civil War casualty.

When I (very carefully) took to the stage again, I could have said anything and the crowd would have laughed. They felt so bad that they clapped the very loudest for me.

All of the other shows went off without a hitch.

I later learned that I had actually broken the wooden frame of the chalkboard with my head. I personally cleaned the blood spatters off of the base of the mic stand.

I will attach pictures of the blessed event and its aftermath.

Thank you for once again laughing with me and at me.



 It is hard to see the other blood drops, but the one is pretty visible.
 That is the fine woodwork in a 102-year-old building that I busted with my noggin.

This is a quick photo I snapped while in the bathroom. Running into a wall mountain-goat-ramming style will cause these results.

This blog will never get old as long as I can continue to supply it with blurry cell-phone pictures of my bleeding head in bathroom mirrors.

5 comments:

The Tanner and Bryan Experience said...

Hahahahahaha!! So it was a smashing success? Send my the video of your routine. Also, welcome back to blogging.

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