Been a week since I’ve posted. Thanksgiving hit, life hit, didn’t do a mic until tonight.
And it showed.
Didn’t bomb. Didn’t kill. I connected, I showed up, I got on stage. That’s what matters. But it was one of those nights where you leave knowing the real work didn’t happen at the mic — it happened in your head.
I announced the Golden Cox Awards to the comics. Response was… fine. Not bad. Not great. No one came up afterward. But I planted the seed. The ones who are serious about this will catch on. I know how competition changes people. I’ve seen it in boxing. It pushes. It stretches. The ones who want to grow will show up and post their sets.
And the judges?
They’re rolling in.
That was my biggest worry, and now it’s happening. So we keep moving.
Funny Bone Flinch, Purple Quarters Punch
Didn’t get on at Funny Bone. Energy was weird anyway. Some kid offered me $5 to give him my spot, like it’s something I could sell. I told him: if the universe hands it to me, I’m not handing it off. That got in his head a little. Later, he ended up hosting at Purple Quarters. There’s the lesson.
Don’t chase the outcome.
Chase the path.
The doors open where they’re supposed to.
Purple Quarters was brutal tonight. Too cold to be outside, so they moved the mic indoors right into the middle of the bar. People drinking, laughing, music going, not a comedy crowd. Just a bar.
I went up fifth. Managed to hold the room for a bit, probably because they weren’t hammered yet. But as the night went on, it got loud. Chaotic. Tough.
Coyot Clint went up later and gave it everything he had. But it wasn’t his audience, and the crowd was halfway gone. He pushed through. I tried to throw him some lifeline laughter, loud and hard, hoping it’d break through the noise. Not sure if it helped or hurt. I hope he didn’t take it the wrong way.
Bree went up right after and killed. Managed the room like a pro. Met the crowd where they were, then brought them down to where she needed them. That’s a skill.
Sweaty Pits and Zero Shame
Small thing, but it felt big.
I had my jacket on, then took it off when I got on stage. Didn’t think twice. Later, Andrew pointed out my pits were soaked, like “really bad.” A few years ago, that would’ve wrecked me. I’d have gone to the bathroom to dry off. I’d have layered my clothes, adjusted my movements, done anything not to look like I was sweating.
But tonight?
I didn’t care. I felt no shame.
And that… that felt huge.
Everyone sweats.
Everyone’s a mess sometimes.
I’m done hiding it.
System’s Broken So We Build a New One
It’s 20 degrees out, and 20+ comics still showed up to do 5 minutes in a noisy bar with clinking glasses and background music. That’s how hungry people are. That’s how broken the system is.
There’s no reason comics should have to grind three years before they start making money, not if they’re good. Not if they’ve got the drive.
The Golden Cox isn’t just a tournament. It’s a machine. A new path. A way to collapse the timeline between open mic and real growth. It’s not about who’s the funniest. It’s about who’s serious, who’s building, who’s creating something real.
This isn’t even just about comedy.
It’s about independent entertainment.
It’s about owning your story.
AI Isn’t the Threat It’s the Launchpad
I’m deep in the AI space. I use it to write, create, clean up ideas, remove friction, make the mess legible. I couldn’t spell to save my life. AI fixed that. Now people can read what I think.
Saw a post the other day about a poet who used Suno to turn their lifelong poems into music. They’d never been able to express themselves that way before. Now they can. That’s the kind of thing I’m trying to scream from the rooftops.
AI isn’t the end of creativity. It’s the beginning of a whole new wave of independent artists doing things they’ve never done before.
Write a joke?
Turn it into a song.
Turn it into a shirt.
Turn it into a short film.
Sell it to a brand.
License it as a voiceover.
Make an animated clip.
Repackage it as a podcast intro.
One idea becomes ten. One voice becomes a brand. And you get to bring your audience with you to every single one.
Still Building. Still Sweating. Still Here.
Tonight wasn’t magic. But it was movement. And that’s what matters.
I’m writing a play right now about integration. Haven’t talked about it publicly. It’s not done, but it’s coming. Like everything else.
The comedy scene in St. Louis is showing up. In the cold. In the noise. In the chaos.
I’m proud of it.
And I’m proud of myself.
For the sweaty pits.
For showing up.
For laughing loud when things got hard.
For not flinching when the moment asked me to stand still.
We’re building something.
Together.
I love you all.
Good night.
