Scranton is full of racist fudgepackers

So a bunch of comics (myself included) did a comedy show in Scranton two nights ago. BFF and hetro-lifemate Glen Tickle was also there, as he was the host. He has already finished his breath taking survivors account of what happened, and you can find it here. Read that if you want to know what happened in chronological fashion. Continue reading this if you want to know WHY we felt like we were in danger and WHAT a racist dude called a black guy (and can't figure it out).

It all went down at a bar inside a Day's Inn, a bar named "Clamdiggers", so it's not like I was expecting the fucking Borgada in the first place. You name your bar Clamdiggers when you meet any one of the following two conditions:

1) You are a coastal business, known for your fresh seafood.
OR
2) Dyke Watering Bungalow is already being used by the in-hotel bar at the Best Western.

I drove an hour from Pottstown, to meet another comic in Lehighton, who then drove me another hour to get us to a bar named fucking "Clamdiggers"; a seafood themed, redneck spawn point located inside a hotel which looked like it had been architecturally inspired by every ski movie from the 1980s.

You know that dive bar on your way to work or whatever, the one you pass all the time but are too scared to go in because it looks too shady to be JUST a bar? The one that actually makes you think "Holy fuck that place looks like it might be a front for a nest of pure evil"?

Duuuude....WTF. 

Clamdiggers is one of those bars. I wasn't aware that a coven of racist hillbillies could exist inside the bar of a family hotel. I mean how often does a hotel just let part building get infested with an entire cult of assholes? There were certainly moments leading up to the show when we were all thinking "There are two audience members, the microphone doesn't work and apparently no one but us gives a shit. I would leave if I hadn't just arrived because it's taken a fortnight to get to Scranton." But shit happens....the show must go on...never let the bastards grind you down...it's all about being professional....ect.

Take it from this guy; sometimes things fuckin' suck but you gotta do it live anyway.

I sometimes wish the other comedians would let me sit at the big kids table and let me do more than ten fucking minutes and open at every fucking show. Lately though,  I've just been trying to remind myself that I didn't have to be invited by anyone, and that I should be grateful that anyone I know thought I was worthy enough to do a show with them. I ended up being glad that I only had to do a ten minute set however, because I could barely finish it. I don't know if Glen and Tyler experienced this when they got up there, but as soon as I grabbed the mic I realized what was really going on.

All the cool comics. Obviously I am not in the picture.

Now I should let you know, in case you haven't had the pleasure of seeing my performance, that I thrive off of chaos. I love hecklers, I think they're just great. Anyone dumb enough to show up at a comedy event and think you can get one off on me, bring it. None of my jokes are anywhere near as good as the reaction I get from the audience when I feast upon your soul in front of your wife and spawn. Some comedians would consider this unprofessional, but the reality is that I have no choice. I need to eat souls to survive. The thing about the heckling trick is that each time you do it you risk a certain amount of backlash coming back at you from the targeted audience member. It could be verbal or, in rare cases physical, and almost never will the entire audience side with a dickhead who got what he deserved.

NOMNOMNOMNOM!

But there was no desire to make that foray into the unknown realm of audience bashing at Clamdiggers. My entire set was basically me just choking on the raw awkwardness secreted into the air by an several middle aged white men who looked as though they all had just lost their favorite kitten five minutes ago. Bandannas, cut off t-shirts, and mushtacios were the only things sitting in the seats. There was flannel FUCKING EVERYWHERE, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the Old Navy commercials that say it's cool to wear flannel again. Every person upon entering the bar would glance at what was going on onstage for maybe a second, and then go right to the bar and face the wall, or go into some back room somewhere. The fact that we were doing a comedy show at their bar seemed to be the main problem...but there was more too it than that. I am not being dishonest in any way when I say that almost every patron at that place shot us looks of contempt and vilification the entire evening. It was almost as if we had intruded upon their time, and they were just waiting for us all to leave to they could put their robes and squid masks back on.

Well played old man, well played.

And then some white guy called the headliner, who was black,  the "N" word. The although this wasn't enough to derail the guy's set (because the entire show was a trainwreck),  I never realized how terrifying racism is when it's right in front of you until that moment. It's like when you were in high school and there was always that one kid who would flip off the algebra teacher and call her a bitch. Remember that feeling you got back then, the one that you would never have again after you graduated? The feeling of "Holy shit, THAT KID BREAKS THE RULES EVERY DAY! It's so exciting, yet so terrifying! He's like the Terminator of rule breaking! He has no fear of the principles office whatsoever. Threats of detention do nothing. He's fucking unstoppable!"

He's such a rebel. 

This is what it feels like to be a white guy, hearing another white guy call a black dude the "N" word for reasons other than comradery;it is kinda like being next to the kid in class who did all the things society told us we couldn't do or say. The difference is that in this situation, he's not fifteen, he's not cool, and he's being god-damned racist. I don't think I got paid for doing comedy, I think that they were either paying us to leave or I got money from my grandmother and the card got sent to Clamdiggers for some reason. The looks I got from some of the patrons towards the back of the bar as I left were so unnerving that I was only able to regain my faith in humanity by playing a game of Street Fighter II in the hotel lobby. START THE FUCKING CAR.

The dealership told me this is just how it starts up.

MineCraft Halloween Update released; Trillions lose jobs

I don't like using cultural phrases unless the situation readily permits it, but the MineCraft Halloween update is LITERALLY ALL THAT AND A BAG OF CHIPS.

So like um, now you can build a portal to hell, and shit. Also you can fish. Fuckin' win-win right there people. Fishing and going to hell; WHERE'S THE CTHULU AD-TIE IN FOR THAT GEM?! The update adds new content and enemies, as well as several bug fixes that make MineCraft even more rad.