It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth Read Online Free
Author: Steve Bluestein
booked for an April 1st gig. In town, no travel. Nice Money. In a Temple. A Temple filled with my mother in different dresses. I hate these gigs and here is why.
About 10 years ago I was asked to work a Temple here in town. The booker called and offered me the gig and I turned it down. Why? I only like to work professional venues. This stems for an experience I had when I first started out... where I worked a private party in which the buffet was set up in front of the stage and I had to work behind the ice sculpture. But I digress. So I turn down the Temple gig and the booker calls back with more money. I turn him down. He calls back with more money. I turn him down. He calls back with more money. This goes on for a week until the gig was five mortgage payments. How do you turn down five mortgage payments? I accept.
So it's the night of the gig and I'm driving to Temple as the committee between my ears begins, "What are you doing this for, you're not going to be happy, they're not going to like you, the stage won't be right, the lights won't be right. Why did you accept, there's more to life than money. " By the time I get there I'm looking for a tower to start shooting. It's 8:55 p.m. I pull myself together and go up to the front desk. "Hello, I'm Steve Bluestein. I'll be entertaining here tonight". And the woman looks up at me and says, "OHHHH I KNOW YOU!!!! YOU ALMOST MADE IT BIG!!!" SLAM-DUNK.
She tells me there is a little problem (tick-tick-tick). The caterer forgot to bring trays (tick-tick-tick) and the waiters have to carry the dishes out two at a time. (KA BOOM) The 9:00 pm show began at 11:00 pm that meant that for two hours I had to hear in my head, "YOU ALMOST MADE IT BIG." The show begins; I hate everyone in the room. I hate the valet; I hate the guy in the men's room who hands out towels. I hate people who hate people. I hate my neighbor with the effing camper in his driveway. I hate people I never even met. I am insane. I am getting ready to go on when I hear the M.C. say, "Before we bring out Steve Bloomstein. Mrs. Rosenberg would like to say a few words." Cut to me on a table having electric shock therapy. So Mrs. Rosenberg takes the stage... "When my Harold died....blah blah blah... the Cancer. ... blah blah blah ..... My entire world was shattered... (Crying) blah blah blah. Forty-five minutes... she spoke for forty-five minutes. The only thing she did not do was bring out dead babies from the Holocaust. And now the comedy of Stevie Bloomberg. It's 11:45 p.m. At this point I don't care about the show, I don't care about the crowd, Mrs. Rosenberg or saving the whales or what my mother is going to say when she finds out I cashed in my Bar Mitzvah bonds. At this point I have jumped off the tower I was shooting from. I say the first thing that comes into my head. I look at Mrs. Rosenberg, who has a front row seat, "Nice speech, hon. I think you lost them in the last 35 minutes." The crowd screams with a scream of laughter I have never heard before in my life. And from that minute on the show went wild. No matter what I said they screamed. They were with me every single joke... Mrs. Rosenberg was laughing harder than anyone. I finished to a standing ovation, got in my car and felt really great!!! But it taught me something... I DID make it big.
1:57 p.m.
Remember that credit card, the one arriving absolutely, positively, without doubt on Saturday by noon? Well, it's coming Monday absolutely, positively, without doubt. Is it just my life or is the world full of fuck ups?
February 19, 2006 - EXPLAINING ANXIETY
Woke up this morning.... my mind was a complete blank. Perhaps it's that banging anxiety in my chest. I'm like a flushed toilet...empty. I thought about the hilarious story of the day my house was hit by 26 tons of mud and debris...oh God, what a romp through comedy land that was. But nothing seems right, nothing seems important enough or
About 10 years ago I was asked to work a Temple here in town. The booker called and offered me the gig and I turned it down. Why? I only like to work professional venues. This stems for an experience I had when I first started out... where I worked a private party in which the buffet was set up in front of the stage and I had to work behind the ice sculpture. But I digress. So I turn down the Temple gig and the booker calls back with more money. I turn him down. He calls back with more money. I turn him down. He calls back with more money. This goes on for a week until the gig was five mortgage payments. How do you turn down five mortgage payments? I accept.
So it's the night of the gig and I'm driving to Temple as the committee between my ears begins, "What are you doing this for, you're not going to be happy, they're not going to like you, the stage won't be right, the lights won't be right. Why did you accept, there's more to life than money. " By the time I get there I'm looking for a tower to start shooting. It's 8:55 p.m. I pull myself together and go up to the front desk. "Hello, I'm Steve Bluestein. I'll be entertaining here tonight". And the woman looks up at me and says, "OHHHH I KNOW YOU!!!! YOU ALMOST MADE IT BIG!!!" SLAM-DUNK.
She tells me there is a little problem (tick-tick-tick). The caterer forgot to bring trays (tick-tick-tick) and the waiters have to carry the dishes out two at a time. (KA BOOM) The 9:00 pm show began at 11:00 pm that meant that for two hours I had to hear in my head, "YOU ALMOST MADE IT BIG." The show begins; I hate everyone in the room. I hate the valet; I hate the guy in the men's room who hands out towels. I hate people who hate people. I hate my neighbor with the effing camper in his driveway. I hate people I never even met. I am insane. I am getting ready to go on when I hear the M.C. say, "Before we bring out Steve Bloomstein. Mrs. Rosenberg would like to say a few words." Cut to me on a table having electric shock therapy. So Mrs. Rosenberg takes the stage... "When my Harold died....blah blah blah... the Cancer. ... blah blah blah ..... My entire world was shattered... (Crying) blah blah blah. Forty-five minutes... she spoke for forty-five minutes. The only thing she did not do was bring out dead babies from the Holocaust. And now the comedy of Stevie Bloomberg. It's 11:45 p.m. At this point I don't care about the show, I don't care about the crowd, Mrs. Rosenberg or saving the whales or what my mother is going to say when she finds out I cashed in my Bar Mitzvah bonds. At this point I have jumped off the tower I was shooting from. I say the first thing that comes into my head. I look at Mrs. Rosenberg, who has a front row seat, "Nice speech, hon. I think you lost them in the last 35 minutes." The crowd screams with a scream of laughter I have never heard before in my life. And from that minute on the show went wild. No matter what I said they screamed. They were with me every single joke... Mrs. Rosenberg was laughing harder than anyone. I finished to a standing ovation, got in my car and felt really great!!! But it taught me something... I DID make it big.
1:57 p.m.
Remember that credit card, the one arriving absolutely, positively, without doubt on Saturday by noon? Well, it's coming Monday absolutely, positively, without doubt. Is it just my life or is the world full of fuck ups?
February 19, 2006 - EXPLAINING ANXIETY
Woke up this morning.... my mind was a complete blank. Perhaps it's that banging anxiety in my chest. I'm like a flushed toilet...empty. I thought about the hilarious story of the day my house was hit by 26 tons of mud and debris...oh God, what a romp through comedy land that was. But nothing seems right, nothing seems important enough or
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