You’re F**King Joking Me?

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What’s Going On? – Marvin Gaye

So the other day I got this wonderful letter in the post from a blogaruu reader which I thought I would reply to…


Just wanted to say great hair! Also. What have you been up to lately?

Goodbye for now,

Murk Waters.’

Howdy yourself, Murk Waters, great to hear from you. Thanks for the hair compliment too, very kind. I’m sure you’ve a fine flowing fro yourself as well. Actually, did I tell you I recently got a haircut? Here’s a photo some clown took of it…

Apologies for the lack of current blogaruu updates as of late, I have been a tad busy. The whole month of May was put aside purely to attend other people’s birthdays. The world and her mother appeared to be having their birthmonth, as they say, which involves month long celebrations for their one birth day. How I enjoy this folk immensely. I attended many pre-birthday parties the week before birthdays. Plenty of post birthday celebrations the day after their birthday. Some people were having four different shindigs for their birthdays to accomodate all their separate groups of friends, so that was fun to receive so many obligation invitations to come along. One girl even invited me to five different parties she was throwing for herself to celebrate the glorious day she was born. What a great day that was for mankind. Alas, I was so busy attending other people’s birthdays, I could not make any of them. What a shame. Tut.

I’ve been going out for plenty of dinners as of late as well. Various functions (birthdays, post birthday, pre-birthday pre-game). Some of these have been buckets of fun. Others have been disastrous. One in particular springs to mind. A group of us headed out to Malibu for some Sunday evening seafood. For some reason I wasn’t in the mood for driving so far when I was so hungry already but… Arm twisted. Off we go. Hour later, we arrive. Really nice restaurant, I’m told. Moonshadows. In we go. Wait for our table. “Would you prefer inside or outside on the deck?” Looks a bit cold outside to me – “Outside looks great!” Out we go. Sit down. Heater at our table broken. Mighty. Look around. Nice view of the ocean. DJing play some deep house. People mingling about. Place looks pretty slick in fairness. Although. Upon closer inspection, this place is full on Malibu Shore. Meatheads. Muscle heads. Greasy heads. Guys in tight sleeveless tops. Headbands. Sun gone. Sunglasses still on. Girls spray tanned beyond belief. Orangutan style. Dressed well. But. Look closer… Mutton dressed as lamb. All loud. All waving wine glasses around. Just a place where people go to be seen. A sceney place, I think it’s called.

Anyway. Menus. Order. Drink? Sure. Beer… $20 for a bottle of beer? Delightful. Tell us after we order. Whures! Waitress forgets the order four times. Policy of no pen or paper allowed it seems. Finally gets it right. We’re in the booth. Cold enough. Small bottle of $20 booze keeping us warm. Taking a swig. I hear a smash behind me. Scuffle of feet on the floorboards. Ruckus. Melee… Fight!!! Meat heads going at it. Like bears. Not connecting any punches. Just swinging and pushing. Two girls then get involved. One small little orange one. One MASSIVE, as in tall, orange one. Potentially a transvestite. We were unsure. Anyway. The deck is no longer cold. These apes are going at it. What a lovely restaurant this is!

As this is at the far side of the deck, we all kind of just look and watch. Wait for the bouncers to go break it up. Servers are oblivious. Start bringing out our starters. Oh Betsy. My crab cakes are looking unrea- ‘ARMENIAN POWER!!!’ Huh? Some clown rushing down the deck past our table screaming this. ‘F**K THE PERSIANS!!!’ war cry goes up from the other side. Fight has moved up the deck. Ehh, kind of getting close to us now. What’s the protocol here? This deck isn’t the widest place in the world either. On the edge of the cliff. Clowns. Calm down. Bouncer scuttles down past us. Followed by- Nope. Just the one. About twenty people fighting. Girls and guys. One girl punches a guy in the face. Tranny rips her hair. Meat head goes into Rocky mode. Shuffling on his feet. Jabbing the air with punches. Gets sucker punched from the side by some little coked up greaseball. Suddenly everyone breaks up. Silence. Calm. Crab cake.

See it on the plate. Oh Betsy. So hungry. Just looking up at me. Screaming for me to take a bite. Fight has calmed down. Girls at our table all on their seats making sure they’re out of the way. All freaked. But safe. For now. Just one bite. Grab my fork. And then the stupid bouncer rugby tackles one of the guys onto our table. Unprovoked. Uncalled for. Untouched crab cake. Flies away. Sails off. Gone. Done. Well, funk this. Deck is going wild. Normal people are all looking at each other: What do we do? Never been in a restaurant where a fight has kicked off like this. Those pesky Armenians/Persians. Tut.

Seeing as the fight reached our table and beyond, it was time for us to leave. Chug back the $20 dollar of beer. Get out of dodge. Gone. At exactly the same time, the Persians (I think) flee the scene as well. Handy handy. Not it looks like our group is part of their fighting group. One of us gets scolded at by an older woman in the restaurant for being a disgrace. Huh? We’re not with them. I swear! Wallop of a handbag. Outside we go. Us. And. Persians. (I think.) Massive girl standing next to us, weave in hand. Hurry up valet dude, we don’t want to be caught in the middle if it spills out to the car park. Cars. Keys. Gone. Sushi? Sushi on!

Punching In A Dream – The Naked And The Famous

So yeah, that was fun. And I rambled on. But say nothing. Just remember the hair. Hmm. What else? Oh yeah, doing lots of stand-up. Writing, reading, performing. Meeting, greeting, mingling. All that stuff. Good hoot. Funny hoot. Still in a ‘this will be funny for a sitcom’ kind of way. To say clowns run the circus still would be an understatement. Some of the people in charge of places would make you sit and wonder: How? Why? Is it me? One promoter in particular comes to mind. Mad Mindy. Funny woman. But. How. Why. Is it me? Did a show at the Comedy Store recently. That in itself deserves a chapter on it’s own in Book Three. At one point I’m backstage waiting to go on, with a black guy singing Judy Garland songs to my left and Andy Dick trying to talk to me via an oddly positioned mirror to my right, while he’s sitting on a toilet bowl, pants around his ankles. Normal enough Sunday night, to be true. Here’s a photo of me growling outside…

Went to a comedy workshop the other night. Wasn’t sure what to expect. Suss on. Still not sure if I went to the right place. Arrived five minutes late. Couldn’t find the place. Walked in. Bare room. People sitting in a circle. Doing introductions I think. Telling us about themselves. So they’d stand up. Talk about their lives. First three people talked about recent deaths in their family. Fourth person started telling us about her turbulent relationship with a guy named Simon. Ten minutes later I realise Simon is her cat. Fifth guy starts opera singing. Sixth guy tells us where he went wrong with his life. Seventh girl is actually funny. Eighth is a former exotic dancer. Ninth is a grandmother who has never spoken in front of a group before. Tenth is an old man who is passed out cold asleep the whole time. And eleventh, is me. Although I was only auditing, so wasn’t allowed to say anything. And I’m pretty sure I actually went to an AA meeting by mistake. Guy in charge left while I was in the bathroom at the end, so never found out.

Also been doing improv classes lately as well. They’re a good hoot. Although sometimes they’re a bit dodge. Like when the class is stopped. Teacher feels he must clarify certain things. And somebody is indirectly called out of line. Or inappropriate. When in fact my jokes were seriously just misconstrued- I mean, whoever that person was whom they were referring to. So that’s fun. And awkward. And then the week after I was asked to leave class. But I’m back in now again.

Moving on. What else? Oh, I accidentally patted someone on the rump thinking they were a mannequin when I was in a shop. Her husband was not happy. I’ve been meeting some wonderful people lately. A sixty-five year old granny tried to fight me one night while DJing for being too boring. Shoved me in the face. Then tried to take off my pants. Good night all round. Earlier that day I tried to have elevator small talk with an old man in my building. “Having a good day?” “Sorry guy, I’m not a homosexual.” So that was great. Although I did have a mighty meeting last week with a writer/producer who wrote and produced some really big sitcoms before. Gibber gabber. I like what you’re doing. Fan of the angle. I’d like to see this, this and that. Let’s meet again. Keep in touch. Let me know when you’re doing stand-up. That kind of thing. Cryptic cryptic. But. Mighty mighty? Me shall see. Time to implement my summer motto: Go. Make. Duu!

Speaking of summer, a lot of DJigging going on lately. New summer residency at the SkyBar pool party with my buddy Chowder. Sun. Beautiful people. Dancing. Not a bad way to spend my Saturday. Also did some DJigging there last night. Very tough gig. Maxim and Virgin Games were having a party. Lots of executives from the gaming world. Along with buckets of ridiculously good looking women. As far as quantity of quality, I think this was the best I’ve ever been to in L.A. Eyes could barely keep up with how they were everywhere and everywhere and over here and right there and sweet Lord. Warm evening. Dresses were short. Bulging. Brimming. Boouncing. Red carpet. Paparazzi. VIP. People recording us DJing the whole night. Celebrities of various shades floating around. Xzibit chilling in the DJ booth. Hollywood haze. All that superficial kind of fun. It was awful. Just terrible altogether. Ahem.

(Every guy should attend at least one Maxim/FHM party per lifetime. I’ve been lucky enough with three now I think. Duu!)

Eventful night actually. Right before DJing I had this comedy showcase kind of thing. Managed to skip a few steps and blag my way in. (Offered my first bribe last week to get on. $20 or a six-pack of Guinness. Let’s just say: Blag on.) Short set. Try to impress. One of the biggest clubs here in LA. Time to go dazzle. First go set up my stuff at the SkyBar. Then run to this place to do my comedy set. In I go. Pumped. Routine finely tuned. Chiseled. Dancing. Just as I’m about to go on stage, one of the guys running the show tells me:

“The owner just arrived, TV bookers are here, your set must be clean. No cursing. No dirty stories. Keep it G-rated.”

You’re f**king joking me?

“No. You’re up.”

“Please welcome to the stage…”

Eh. F**k. I mean funk! Can I say funk? Balls. Emm. Hows it going?

Let’s just say my set was not something suitable for G-rated. Not really in the Jerry Seinfeld mould as far as stand-up goes (curse free). So that was an eye opener. Needed for TV I do suppose. Never had a specific reason for a set like that before. Now I do. Not sure if my euphemisms made the material any bit cleaner. But. Leave, learn and come back, as they now say.

Oh yeah, I also almost signed up to write a mild gay erotic novel on Sunday. Money talks. Plot. Story. Outline. All done. Agreed in theory. Unfortunately a post-plan Google scuppered that plan. Somebody’s already written Fifty Shades of Gay. So that ended that. And now instead I am writing this fine blogaruu. Every cloud, huh?! Here’s the outfit I bought to celebrate what I thought was a cash cow, prior to the Googling. Miami Vice lives on…

Anyway, Murk, thanks again for the letter. Keep them coming. Not sure why I got bogged down so much with the fight details but that’s life. Edit needed. Notes for a future book perhaps. I’m sure it will be a hilarious one. Haha. So funny. Right?!

Thumbs up,


(P.S. It’s my birthmonth! Expect guilt-laden-obligation-invitations every day of the month.)

I Love It – Icona Pop

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