Fuck me, man. Crazy goddamn day.
I haven’t been doing Mondays, but tonight I did. After a weekend in LA. After a delayed flight. After getting home at 2 AM. After after after. I was exhausted but didn’t want to go home. I wasn’t tired. I wanted to hit something—maybe anger, maybe unknown energy. Whatever it was, I wanted it.
Got a five-minute set. I think it went good. The dating bit about different communication styles across races hit. I could add more to it long term. It’s funny. About a minute long. Ends with that “BAM!” poppy moment. I’m getting better at committing to that high range. Still not sure how long to drag the “oh Poppy” out though.
Not a big crowd tonight at Heavy Anchor. Last time it was packed. I walked in around eight, signed up, landed 13th. Timing wasn’t bad. Been fucking with Andreas Mendoza again. I call him Andy. He ignores it. Payback for when he called me Kevin for a month.
I’m writing this while making eggs. It’s 11:41 PM. Too much salt. Bacon and eggs before bed. Easy protein.
Alright, back to it.
Did some stuff that was just floating in my head. Like “when I go down my beard goes up.” I think it’s funny. Conclusions in life, right?
But as I’m writing this, I catch myself thinking—could I even say that joke if the wife were in the room? I don’t think I could. Not because it’s about her, but because it would make me wildly uncomfortable. And that tells me something. I’m still making myself small on her behalf. Still censoring a part of me that wants to be free. Even posting this right now, I can feel that hesitation sitting in my chest.
She messaged me about the fights in the city. And I’m sitting here thinking about Missouri cutting off EBT for November. People needing food. I get that there’s fraud, but most of those folks just need to eat. I’m over here eating 900 calories a day myself. Feels like everything’s tightening. Maybe the system collapses this week. Who knows.
Anyway, the beard joke landed. I asked if I should shave it. Whole room said no. People love this big dumb beard. So do I. It’s me. First thing I’ve ever done just for me. I didn’t shave my head for me—I shaved it because it was going. The beard though, that’s mine.
Crowd was small. Five people maybe. But I had them laughing every twenty seconds. That’s a win.
I’m eating and writing. Chaos in real time. Grandma taught me how to make eggs. They’re good tonight.
Good weekend. Good day.
Tomorrow’s busy. I’ll probably rest. Maybe sign up at Funny Bone. Probably won’t get on. But I’ve already hit two mics on Monday. Got Seeds Thursday. That’ll make four.
As I was leaving Heavy Anchor, the host—Lauren, I think? L-something. She’s funny. I like her vibe. She said if I want to do more comedy, go to The Golden Finch. So I did.
The Golden Finch is right next to Trader Bob’s Tattoos, which is wild. I remember sitting in that shop as a kid, waiting for my brothers to get inked. Same spot. Now it’s this LGBTQ+ friendly bar doing open mics. Sailors, bikers, and trans rights all within one block. Beautiful chaos.
I got up. The crowd was anti-Trump. So I opened with “Fuck the government!” and they loved it. Huge pop. Then, dumbass me, I said it again. Crickets. I should’ve walked away after the first one. Closed the deal. Move on. Humans are weird.
But man, tonight was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt on stage. Only other place I feel that grounded is Box STL when I’m coaching. I connected with the audience. Eye contact. Smiles. Real shit.
Chris Webster was there. Funny dude. We exchanged info. He’s the first person I’m sharing my bigger plan with here in St. Louis. Hopeful we can work together. Only if the vision aligns. I’m not risking my soul for misalignment anymore.
Andreas taught me something tonight too. He went up when the crowd was loud, didn’t fight it. Just stood silent until the room went quiet. Comedy 101. Silence is power. I realized I already do that without thinking. Walk up, move the stand, hold the mic, and wait. It works.
When I did that tonight, the room hushed. Fifteen seconds. Pin-drop quiet. Then I hit them with the “Fuck the government!” opener. Home run.
I’m wrapping up now. Midnight. Got my eggs. Wrote my post. Done my two mics. Hit my commitment.
At Heavy Anchor they sell $1 cans of Hamms to comics. Disgusting. Beautiful. Symbolic. I didn’t drink any, but I love that they do.
That’s all I got tonight, folks.
I love you.
