Wait 'til you see CARNIVAL MAGIC. It's the new MANOS. Good God. @MST3K https://t.co/JgNkLoQSh6
Have fun at that farm upstate frolicking and playing with other animals and being super happy! https://t.co/yVlPCR5jCa
Hey @gianforte why don't you try body-slamming ME you pussy? ('Cuz then you'd fuck your back up I'm really fat is what I'm saying)
The Trump White House: aiding terrorism. https://t.co/K1eOo3MRuU

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Fri, Sep 24


COMEDIANS OF COMEDY SHOOTING DIARY: AN HOUR OF GRACE

@ 12:00 AM

   

I'm staying at maybe one of the most barebones, plastic-cups-and-rough-towels motels in Eugene, and yet they STILL have wireless internet that blankets the premises like the caramel murmurs of a Capri whore. I'm writing, photographing, and sending this from the "veranda" (three wrought-iron picnic tables near the second floor snack machines) an hour before tonight's show.

I've got my feet up on a bizarre lion's head fountain which serves no purpose except to fool me into thinking I'm making the most of the eastern Oregon "magic hour". I'm two pony shots into a bottle of single malt, 15 year-old Balvenie (in-cask date: August 18th, 1988—exactly ONE month after I started stand-up comedy) and almost finished with Gary Giddins' un-put-downable critical biography of Louis Armstrong.

I don't own any Armstrong records. I'm not a fan of jazz. But one chapter into this fucker, and I want to hear everything Dippermouth every recorded. I'm chasing the Balvenie with generic "Classic Selection" spring water.

Beauty and happiness can mug you in an Olive Garden restaurant, I'm starting to realize.


 
 
   
   
   
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