When I was a kid I was very small. I was just a mere fraction of this behemoth of a man that you may have come to know. As almost every man under the height of 5 foot 5 knows, being small comes with a price. That price is usually paid throughout your years in the form of ultimate wedgies, swirlys, stolen lunches and like clockwork getting pummeled by the local bully every Friday at lunchtime. Now, I have not personally experienced this, and I can safely say that I was a very small very skinny kid growing up and I was not bullied. At all. I do not know the experience of having my underwear driven up into my butt-cheeks, nor am I familiar with the sensation of toilet water bustling about my head as I am hung upside down over a toilet bowl. No ladies and gentleman I was not bullied because I had a secret weapon. A very powerful weapon at my disposal that I found when used properly and at the right time would render any bully defenseless. What did I have in my back pocket all those years of being small that made these bullies stop in their tracks? I had comedy.
I made people laugh, and I was good at it. There was only one time in my life that I remember coming close to being bullied. I was in the sixth grade in the locker room getting changed for physical education class. I remember there was this huge thirty-year old sixth grader Paul, whom most of the school was afraid of. He had close ties to a particular Mexican gang and was known for his violent and destructive behavior. On this day he decided that he would try to pick on the new kid (me) at the school. Halfway through getting my shirt on, Paul walks up behind me and says in his loud boisterous voice, “Hey man! That’s my locker. You’re using my locker.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, turning around. “Well, it’s all yours man, oh and I left your mom’s panties in there because she forgot them at my house. I figure you could give them back to her for me.” I moved to the side so he could see the white cotton floral patterned pair of women’s underwear hanging in the locker. Don’t ask me why I had a pair of women’s panties on me at the time, that’s a different story. I just stood there before him silently waiting for the pummeling that was sure to come as everyone burst into laughter around us. But, there was no pummeling. He stared at me in shock for a few seconds and then what he said next surprised even his own goons! “You know what man? You’re alright.” And with a huge pat on the back I became part of his gang. In hindsight maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to join a gang in the sixth grade, but it sure beat the hell out of getting bullied.
Comedy has always been my way out. It has been there for me in times of sadness and despair, and times of happiness and joy. Comedy has always been my way to connect with people from all walks of life. I am blessed to be able to make a semi-living from my jokes. They say that mathematics is the language of the universe; I disagree. I think that comedy is the language of the universe. You may not be able to prove that black holes exist or string theory is viable but how awesome would it be if you made an alien laugh? If I landed on a planet in a distant galaxy I wouldn’t want to be greeted by a bunch of numbers and flashy lights. No, I want to see a man smash a watermelon with a huge wooden mallet, or hear about the elusive Deerbra. I want to laugh before I eventually destroy your planet and rob it of its resources. Why do you think aliens never abduct scientists, or mathematicians? They always seem to go for the dumbest, most red-neck, completely oblivious people…