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You’ll Give Me Money to Do What, Again?

So, I got a show booked a couple of days ago. Like, a real show — for money.

(Not real money, mind you — I’m still not quitting that day job, or anything. But it’s pretty cool, nonetheless. Baby’s taking another tiny step outta the nest. Awwwwww.)

It’s a little weird accepting money for something I’ve been doing for my own entertainment, though. It’s like being paid to eat, or taking cash for blogging. Or collecting tips for masturbating, that sort of thing.

(Okay, so it’s maybe not quite like that last one, though this show might be at least figuratively orgasmic. On the other hand, if I get spooked up there, I suppose I could wet myself, too. I’ve often said that you can tell the difference between whether someone’s excited or nervous, simply by the size of the wet spot on their pants.

Yeah… actually I say that too often. Once is probably too much, come to think of it.)

There’s another thing about this show — actually, the one thing that’s got me a little edgy right now. It’s a thirty-minute set, which I’ve never quite stretched to before. Now, I do a lot of five-minute sets. Seven minutes — no problem. I’ve gone up to about ten minutes at once, and can see — just thinking about the various crap I’ve done that I don’t completely hate yet — how to get up to fifteen, maybe eighteen, no problem. But thirty? That’s gonna take some work. Either some of the new nonsense has to work, or I’ve got to go back and rescue older drivel that I do hate, until I don’t hate it any more. Other people might hate it — but I hope not. These places serve beer in bottles, you know. And those things hurt.

Anyway, I’m working on it. Hell, it’s two months away — maybe I’ll have a whole new thirty minutes of shit by then. Meanwhile, I should spend some time writing, I suppose. And hey, look at that — the one thing I know I can’t use, that’s not going to entertain any audience… is eight paragraphs of me blathering on about coming up with new shit. Great. So now we both just spent ten minutes of our lives we can never have back. Super.

Where’s a really good dick joke when you need one, eh?