A Comic’s Confession
How’s everyone doing tonight?
Desperate, desolate, depressed, oppressed, conflicted, addicted?
Oh I see, it’s just me.
Thanks for coming to the show, but just so you know
We tell jokes so we don’t choke
On the pain of living day to day
The self-loathing is making our self lonely
But we don’t know any other way.
Okay folks, how about some jokes?
Knock, knock, who’s there?
It’s the police and we’ve come to take your mother back to prison for missing parole.
It means you go in to foster care where they don’t foster care.
The system is a loaded deck where kids are shuffled into full houses.
It’s all hit, hit, hit until 18. Survival is a crap shoot forever
And the odds are never in your favor.
How about some different jokes for different folks?
Kids say the darndest things… when you pull them into your van.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
So he could escape his abusive father for just one night.
His dad’s a cock who will clock you across the face if you speak out of place.
With no destination, an infestation of indignation
Leads our fowl friend to the foul farm of self-harm.
Prepare for despair: Cut, tenderize, marinate, and burn.
Unfair to share? But, realize, appreciate, and learn.
Now, wasn’t that fun?
Ding! Our chicken is done.
I’m sorry folks how about a joke?
I just flew into town and boy are my arms tired…
From beating my wife
A man walks into a bar
He drinks away the night trying to drown the memories of the family he once had.
He comes here for the beer but stays out of fear
That he settled for good enough when good enough wasn’t good enough
He takes another drink so he doesn’t have to think
About his mistakes, missteps, misfortune.
At home he leers into the mirror where he hears the cheers
Of his dead wife chanting, “Take your own life!”
“Stop the fight, give up the light and reunite”
As he comprehends the end, his God a fraud,
He takes one last swallow and tries not to wallow in his
Missed stakes, missed steps, missed fortunes.
Wait, don’t hate what I’m trying to say, just stay.
This is the tragedy that creates our comedy.
We talk about our dicks so we don’t have to talk about our debts.
We can’t get a grip on reality and can’t afford to slip into negativity
So we laugh instead of cry and tell our sadness to strangers every night
We beg for a true connection but are rewarded with false affection
As we stand up to do stand-up while you sit, we are split.
One foot on stage and one foot in the grave
Standing alone with the mic we fight to stay in flight
If we fall, that’s all, thank you good night.