All my words

Every Man Doing Stand Up:   I’m so bad at sex! I cum in like 2 minutes! Duh Doy! Aren’t men terrible? Haha please clap.   Every Woman Doing Stand Up:   Men are so bad at sex! The clitorus is right here you doofus! Stupid idiots. Ladies, lets just fuck each other, am I right? Haha please clap.   -- My problem is that I’m actually quite proficient and artful with it, as far as I can tell, but you can’t say that out loud because then you’re a dick and everyone hates you.   I have volumes of literature in the drafts. I have seen too many women scream and convulse to believe that I can’t fuck or that women don’t want to be dominated by straight dudes.   But that’s not funny. Here’s what might be funny:   I’m good at it because I do it a lot and pay attention to what works and what doesn’t. Scientific method.   Also I use viagra. Why? Because I play to win. It’s like using the big metal slide in bowling. You can’t fuck it up.  

Love is the most difficult aspect of life. As I age, I find it harder and harder to find people worth loving. Things worth loving. Anything worth loving. Love is a lottery. You pull that lever every time you reach out to someone or start a conversation or post a pic on social media or even look a stranger in the eye. You’re pulling a lever. You don’t know what’s on the other side of that pull and when it’s bad it’s so bad that you never want to pull it again. You want to retreat into the ground and never come back and just be a worm for the rest of your life.

L ove is a lottery. You pull that lever on the slot machine every time you reach out to someone or start a conversation or make a post on social media or call your parents or even look a stranger in the eye. You’re pulling a lever. You don’t know what’s on the other side of that pull and when it’s bad it’s so bad that you never want to pull it again. You want to retreat into the ground and never come back and just be a worm for the rest of your life. No one will ever read this. It’s purely for you, Myself, you indecisive, meek, weak, foolish, naive, irresponsible lunatic.

I was listening to an interview last night between two famous comedians, Marc Maron and Jim Carey. Jim Carey’s not exactly known for his stand up, but it is the first thing he was good at, so I listened for what I could glean. He noted a dreadful truth I had learned earlier this week: it is way easier to be funny under the influence.   Jim recounted one night outside The Comedy Store where he “found himself alone with” the Great Richard Pryor. They shared a joint. Pryor told him: “be careful with this, kid. i haven’t felt like me in 40 years.” or something like that. Basically he felt guilty that the weed (and other various substances) was producing the comedy, not him.   What Jim said struck me because I experienced something similar on Tuesday. I went up at the Open Mic about halfway through the show (maybe peak time in terms of how full the room was) with minimal preparation and a full whiskey sour bubbling through me and received some of the hardest laughter I have felt in...

Before I was self conscious, I was Thomas Sky. Thomas Sky Johnston Gallo. That is what I wrote on the top of every page of every school assignment until age 10. It only irked me once I realized how many more letters my name had than other kids’ names and how inconvenient it was to write all that all the time. But I wrote it. I trusted my parents' judgement when I was small.  My mother seemed obsessed with the idea that I was somehow different from other kids. But no kid wants to be different from other kids. They just want to fit in. Fitting in is how you survive. The strategy wears out as you grow older.  She had me IQ tested. Skipped grades. Homeschooled. She made sure I was different. I felt no smarter than anyone else. Just younger and more afraid. 

When I was a kid I could just go to the dentist.   Now I’m like: Hey this girl’s not much older than me. And her fingers are in my mouth. And I don’t hate it. It’s quite nice actually.  

Oh shit Putin might hit the button! Oh shit! keep looking at the screen because you never know your whole life and the lives of everyone you know might be gone in an instant so don’t flip that channel! And while you’re at it, enjoy the taste of Lays Potato Chips. Crunch crunch crunch. Ooh you’re hungry now aren’t you. Give us your money. It won’t be worth anything soon anyways because the whole world is about to explode! So you might as well spend your final few moments snacking on some delicious Lays Potato Chips, you stupid fat monkey pig. Oh oh oh oh also everyone is still dying everywhere from The Flu so put your 6th mask on and get your 43rd booster shot to stay SAFE! You want to be SAFE don’t you? You don’t want to be that one fucking idiot retard who goes and gets themself sick and DIES? You probably shouldn’t even go outside, actually. There is no love to be found in crowds or any kind of physical community so just stay at home, alone, stare at the screen and BUY THE LAYS POTAT...

If I start watching The Sopranos then my life is over. My free time either goes to production or consumption. One or the other. No one can serve two masters. I’m sure it is a great show. I’m sure I would love it. I’m sure I would look forward to watching it every day and sometimes on days where I feel particularly weak I would watch an entire episode during my “shift” at “work.” I’m sure I would want to talk about it with every person I know but settle for the post-episode reddit discussion thread instead because nobody I know has seen anything I have seen and if they have it was years ago and so why would they want to talk about it.   But that’s not the reason I abstain. I abstain because I need to make stuff instead or my life is over.  

"Thomas, the more you say the less I know about you." "Thanks, man."

I’m too tired. I just Can’t fucking do it. How can I go up and be funny at 9:30 PM on a thursday. I did it at 10 last night and 10:15 the night before. i hate to be a flake and potentially hurt my chances of going up again but i am just too dang tired to go outside in the cold and hop on the light rail and walk through the depths of hell to that bar and jostle for people’s attention on the day of a holiday i don’t give a fuck about.   it’s green drink day. you drink alcohol and you do green stuff and some people dress like leprachauns. who gives a fuck. the irish are not a significant enough portion of the population for me to care about their day. can we have a day like this for italians? meatball day? everybody puts grease in their hair and tawks likea this and says vaguely racist shit and makes you feel bad for not finishing their meatball rigotoni calzone?

It always hurts me to be praised or appreciated. Especially over text. I Can Not read it. It’s always too much. I can’t just be like “aww, that’s so sweet! thanks!” and go about my day. I can’t even take people thinking positively of me. I can’t take it when my parents say they love me or when my girlfriend tries to express how she feels. I don’t want to hear it and I don’t know why.   The only approval I trust is involuntary laughter. The laughs don’t lie. That’s why I do stand up. That’s why i do anything.  

Unfortunately, I can only give you the superficial rundown that I’ve invented to assure people I’m doing okay. An advertisement for how awesome my life is. Because that’s how you keep friends. You tell them it’s going well, so they still want to be friends with you, so you don’t lose all your friends for being honest about your shitty life. And make it even worse.

  because i am inconsiderate and Selfish and want others to Die and Suffer. Their masks will all be off in a few months.

I want to write something good I want to see the world I want to grow physically stronger I want to improve my parents lives I want to free myself from physical pain I want to meet people who impress me I want to meet people who are as obsessed as I am I want to win tournaments I want to be paid to travel to compete in tournaments I want to sit in a chair that does not force me to move around and break my focus every 30 seconds I want to clear the fucking acne off my face I want to fix my teeth I want to find a beautiful, clever, passionate, courageous young woman to share two or three nights every week with, and to travel with, and to talk to, and to take my sexual frustrations out on. Someone who I don’t have to fake a personality for and someone who challenges me to become better and gives me the confidence to take risks and live boldly. I want to become the type of person who can realistically achieve such a relationship.  

Writing jokes is like buying nice clothes. Why put in all the work when you can just STEAL Uber drivers are like massage therapists. They don’t speak english but its fine because you have nothing to say to them anyway. if you have to say anything it’s because they’re doing a bad job. Bombing is like being broken up with. You cant tell if it’s   them or it’s you but either way you hate yourself and there’s nothing you can do about it but try again, expose yourself to more judgement from more people who might not like you. If you get burned again it stings twice as bad because then it’s probably not them, it’s you. And so you feel worse about yourself and begin to spiral down into a dark cellar where you question every good thing you ever thought and you understand why none of your friends seem to really care about or like you and you don’t blame them for feeling that way. You type into the notes app on your phone one shot deep in a fast moving car back to the expensive, dirty, dange...