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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA



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Howdy, friendly reading person!
I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!
If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

Tiptoe Through the Mailbag

Well, what’s a time-pressed blogger to do, eh?

I’m wrapping up preparations (read: drinking heavily; it’s what comics do, dammit) for my show tomorrow night. Meanwhile, the recent posts around here have been shorter and further between. And I’ve got a week’s worth of tasty reader comments to respond to.

And… hey, there you go. Let’s kill two birds with one stone here, kiddies. Or, as I like to call it, slobber up two boobs with one ‘Brrrrrrrrritzky!

(Okay, I don’t really call it that. But I wish I did. At least in front of people who don’t have the power to fire, arrest, or divorce me. I’ve been waiting years to use that.)

Anyway, I’m taking the lazy way out — I’m gonna go through the past few days’ worth of comments, and if I can get any mileage out of answering any here, then that’s what I’ll do. Free topics, no pressure, and half the words will be someone else’s — why the hell didn’t I think of this before? Dunno — maybe I’m just a cluebag. Let’s get to the old mailbag, shall we?


From QuirkyChick, commenting on Move Over, Brawny…:

What I don’t get is why a guy would want to cover up his grey. Salt and pepper is so sexy.

Well, QC, I’m not really sure, either. I don’t know about the ‘sexy’ part, per se, but it just seems like a hell of a lot of work to try and defy the aging process. Besides, it’s ultimately a losing proposition — sure, any of us who’ve been on the planet for more than a couple of decades would like to look like we did a few years ago… but it’s just not gonna happen. I don’t care if your hair is neon blue, you bathe in botox, and get weekly Oil of Olay enemas — eventually, the age is going to show.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, in my book. Who the hell cares how many times you’ve made it around the sun? Gray hair, wrinkly cheeks, saggy boobs — those are badges of honor, for surviving long enough to earn the right to wear them. And I’m not just saying that because at this point, I have all three.

Okay, maybe I am. Whatever. Next caller!


From Mellie Helen, on the same post:

Seems to me that guys don’t like having to do chores over and over again. So instead of hair dye, that does have to be reapplied occasionally, how about: Magic Markers! They’re permanent!!

You know, that’s not a bad idea, for people who feel they have to go the hair-coloring route. But hell, I could never stay inside the lines in those damned crayon coloring books growing up — how long would it take to mark up every fricking hair on my head? Maybe this would be better for those guys who are graying and balding. Less muss, less fuss. And you get high on the marker fumes while you’re at it — hey, macarena!

Hoo boy, this is fun. Let’s try another one.


From Scott-san, commenting on Anybody Got an Eight-Minute Fart Joke…:

If you get ’em laughing hard enough, won’t that eat into your time? Put the stuff you’re most unsure about at the end and front-end load your set with the best stuff.

Scott, I appreciate your sunny outlook, in a couple of different ways. First, that people laughing during a show can shave significant time off of a thirty-minute set. Second, and more importantly, that I actually have the material in me to get that sort of show-stopping, time-eating, drink-spewing hilarity.

(And hey, maybe you weren’t really suggesting that. Still, a guy can dream, can’t he? And I can use the boost, going into this show — it’s cool to even pretend that someone thinks I could do that. You know, without actually dropping my pants. Meh.)

Which brings us — that is to say, talk of the show brings us, as opposed to my pants-dropping nonsense — to our next comment:


From my good friend and hilarious Boston-area comic Daniella:

Actually, I think I would start and finish with my most solid/proven material and put the newer/unfounded stuff in the middle. That way, if the newer/unfounded stuff doesn’t go over that well, you can recover with your solid/proven stuff to close strong.

Just my two cents.

I wouldn’t worry too much – you’ll do great!

Yep, this is how it’s done, from what I’m told. Start big, finish big, and just hope you survive in between. It’s sort of like playing a basketball game in that way, or campaigning for office, or having sex with twins, maybe. Not that I’ve ever done any of those things, frankly, but that’s what I understand. From other people who’ve probbaly never done any of them, either. But I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the point.

Ah, right. The point is just what Daniella said: I’m gonna try starting out with stuff I’ve done and gotten giggles from, and then work my way down into the fetid, stinking pit of shit that probably only I think is funny, and try to crawl back out of the hole before the broken bottles start flying. We’ll see how that goes. Maybe I’ll wear a hockey mask, just in case.

Hey, and while we’re taking comments from fellow comedians:


From my merry and multi-talented standup/writer buddy Jenn, commenting on It Feels Like a Firing…:

So, um….are you shocked at all that I read “melting clocks” as “melting cocks”? Which I’m sure is a little known Dali piece…

Surprised? No. Not so much. But I’m not sure that Dali’s ‘cockwork’ is really that obscure — I’ve seen a few of his pieces with all sorts of drawn-up nudity, and the clocks aren’t the only saggy objects he could draw. Some of that stuff would keep you awake at night, baby. *shudder*


And from Debi, on the same post:

I, for one, am just wicked impressed that, not only did you reference Dali in a post, but that you know two separate works of his! He’s probably my favorite modern painter, which for some reason drives some of my art teachers crazy…

Actually, I’m a big Dali fan, too — floppily-drawn body parts notwithstanding, of course. I even got to go to the Dali museum in London last year, which was very cool. Sort of small, and pretty creepy in a lot of ways, but still — very, very cool. Worth the trip, just for the sketches.


And finally, from SilverBubble, commenting on Hey, Why Does the New Office Smell…:

My mom always called them dirty pillows.

A combination Taco Bell/KFC? That’s located on the corner of Heaven and Paradise, right?

Firstly, I still prefer ‘love pillows’. I don’t like to think of them as ‘dirty’, exactly — and frankly, luuuuuuv pillows sounds way dirtier — in a good way.

And secondly, about the combo ‘KF Bell’? Yes — heaven and paradise, baby, heaven and paradise. You have to experience the greasy, tasty hangover to believe it. Them’s good eatin’!


All right, that’s far more than enough drivel for now. I’m off for a few hours of sleep, and then it’s off to fabulous, sexy western Massachusetts tomorrow for the comedy extravaganza. Assuming I survive that, I’ll talk to you folks in a day or so. Happy weekend, people!

Permalink  |  2 Comments



2 Responses to “Tiptoe Through the Mailbag”

  1. Jenn says:

    When the FUCK did I become merry?

  2. panthergirl says:

    Damn…you found out about my secret Oil of Olay enemas!

    OK. Wanna hear something weird? I came here to check out your blog because I haven’t been here in awhile (sorry!), while I’m watching the Steve Martin movie, “Roxanne”. No sooner do I start reading here than Darryl Hannah says, “I love YOU Charlie!”

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