Sunday April 18th, comment night at the New York Comedy Club.

This is it folks. I'm going here to pay $5 for 5 minutes for the opportunity to get years shaved off of my life. You may think, "oh really, suicide already at 23." And if you really did think that, you are share my morbid manifestation of nihilism or solipsism. I'm not sure which one at the moment, as sometimes I care deeply about things involving me, and other times I am high on weed. Or scotch.

Suicide, that's an option. That is not what this story was about. It's about open mics. The people that show up are an odd bunch. They think they have an idea of what to do up there. But its never conversational. They all have the misleading notion that you should just shout into the microphone with a soliloquy that allows the listener of this selfish nonsensical drivel to meditate to a male voice. Or was it female tonight? I can't even tell.