Forgotten Butt-Wipes: My First Comedy Tour

I was recently invited to go on tour as a featured comedian for my friend Jersey, the headliner for the tour. I was completely stoked to do this because, in my head, it legitimized me as a performing comedian. I have worked for a few years on honing my material from the wildly disorganized, wordy, humorless malignancy that it was, cutting away at it over time. Eventually, it became the wildly disorganized, wordy, somewhat-funny malignancy that it is today that makes some people laugh.

A Town Called Catharsis...

Sorry to ejaculate so much bitterness into your eyes, but I'm coming up on the halfway point of my "vacation" to Spain and just needed to write something down to keep from smoking a lefty while making homemade pipe bombs blindfolded. I'd like to preface this blog by saying that the country of Spain is beautiful and really is a sight to behold. And so far, the Spaniards are a very friendly lot and very hospitable.

This post, however, is not about them or their country. This is a tale of a gringo who gets queasy at the thought of any kids other than his own (singular) forced into taking a vacation to a place, during a time, and with a crowd that is the very antithesis of what I imagine a vacation to be: relaxing. Read on...

Spain sucks and this vacation is pure, unfiltered misery with a side of iwishiweredead. I told my current roommate, or wife, that this would blow. I told you guys that it would, and I was correct as always. My son is fucking miserable with jet lag and teething. So flying in coach with two seats the size of barstools with this fucker on our laps was totally awesome for the 3-hour flight to Chicago, then a 4-hour layover there was a fucking joy, followed by a 9-hour flight to Madrid. 

I said repeatedly that vacationing with a toddler is not, in fact, a vacation, but more a testament to self-punishment. Nay, says the roommate. People love to travel with their kids.

We weren't halfway through our flight to Chicago before she agreed with this point that I had made months ago. Good thing she realized it then because our traveling was about 3% done. On that flight, we were understandably surrounded by Spaniards, who are truly some of the nicest people I've ever come across but who also vehemently refuse all forms of hygiene. The lady next to me had such bad breath that my eyes rusted.