This is my first entry on my NEW online journal. I feel a slight amount of pressure coming from the back of the room. Must I be funny? I wouldn't think so. I am off the clock As Lisa says, “Relax. You're not on stage.” I feel the same way a comic gets when an audience stares blankly at you. They begin to talk amongst themselves and check their watches during your great two minute opening bit you planned on doing on Letterman. If you ever got asked to be on. Your fellow comics are in the back of the showroom laughing at you from the shadows. It doesn't help the fact that you are still twenty eight minutes from seeking the shelter of a dilapidated back stage green room. But this is just my journal. It just happends to be the journal I share with people on my website. My “Comedian” website. A place where a minut percentage of audience members come to get that last ounce of satisfaction before the smell of cigarettes leave their clothes from the night of live comedy. Where most of them got here by reading a piece of paper I handed them on the way out the club doors. I got you to come to my website. I haven't had enough of you all yet and I got you back to me. You read the paper I gave you in front of your computer and all you said was “fuck it….” Like when you have nothing to read at the laundry mat so you find yourself reading a copy of the WatchTower a Jehova's Witness left there a few hours past. “Fuck it…”

Some audiences find refuge in a comedian's website. It's the inevitable reality that the night of entertainment is finally over. It's redemption for some. Some don't find me at all amusing. Some infact find me offensive at times. Especially when I speak to a group of wine glasses. A lady once found it necessary wait for me after a show only to criticize my taste in humor. “My husband would hit me. There's things you shouldn't joke about. And she hit me. Ironic. She found it necessary to hit someone for making her mad. I laughed and grabbed my arm. She stood there and waited for me to say something. The other comic selling his CD's stared at me to see what I wa going to do. I just laughed. And grabbed my arm. I looked at her right in her eyes and said, “You're a real prize. I can't imagine why your husband would hit you.” She walked away. Finally. I hope you enjoyed yourself when you saw me perform. I hope you enjoyed the entire evening. Thanks for coming by. Thanks for saying, “fuck it…”