Comic, Jordan Mather-Licht talks about getting his car towed, Eating Cool Whip while driving, and works through his pussy chunk.
Muncie comic, Noel Quizalla, fights his way past security at the Big Pretty Studio Complex to discuss dumb babies, crazy dads, and super-crazy dads.
Comic and American hero, Josh Mang pops in to blow off some steam, but not to bring pizza.
Hosts of the Yammerhead Podcast, Mike Jeffers and JR McIntire infiltrate the Big Pretty Studio Complex to talk about podcasts, comedy, music, and Tesla.
Saleem continues to be amazing. Topher continues embarrassing himself.
Bloomington comic, Mat Alano-Martin drops an assload of knowledge. In fact, I've only just gotten the knowledge stains out of the couch.
SPOILER ALERT! BigPretty reviews the new Star Trek. Also, THE Saleem reminds us why he's the funniest mother-f***er alive.
Me and Topher nerd the eff out!
Second City Improv instructor and all around amazing dude, Kevin Reome takes time between shows to drop names, talk improv, and recall the time he stalked George Lucas.
Ryan Niemiller, the self-proclaimed, "Cripple-threat" of comedy talks wrestling, being politely bumped by Marc Maron, and atheism.
The parade is over, but the clowns still fill downtown. They shuffle along on big colorful shoes into first generation minivans on random street corners. The vans – probably bought in an optimistic moment of clarity when they saw their clown lives sprawled out before them as a surrendering virgin bride. Now these elderly clowns hide their tremors with broad movements – the failing tautness of their faces disguised by full-faced painted smiles. At the corner, an Aerostar’s horn honks with alacrity - their ride is here. I hide my disappointment when only one or two clowns climb aboard each van.
Not to be outdone, teams of Shriners bandy about - brash and haberdashed in the finest fezzes Shriner-town has ever fezzed. I don’t even know what a Shriner is. Whether they make shrines or simply use them – tinkering on go-carts at sacred altars. The sputtering little cars of a Shriner gang round a corner. It’s at once ridiculous and nightmarish. Some Shrining brethren, coasting erectly about on Segways, soon upstage the go-carts. They zip along – life-sized wind up toys – tassels flowing in the breeze.
These people of spectacle and dispersing onlookers are enough to confirm that I had, in fact, just missed a parade - that and the police cruiser holding ground amid a herd of sawhorses. I turn left, but the parade route has a wider sprawl than it likely needs. More cops. More sawhorses. I make a quick right and run the length by circling round. Though I only need to go a few blocks, I drive a mile out of my way and re-approach from the west.
I find a spot just outside the bar and plug ninety-cents into the meter to get me to nine o’clock without a ticket. Fucking fascists.
The bar is what you expect – guy in front checking your ID. He asks for mine to keep up appearances. He can tell by the hitch in my giddy-up and the white in my beard that I’ve seen twenty-one a couple times over, but I play along. I yes-and.
The bar is the Wild Beaver Saloon. The ambience is franchised karaoke. The house drink is the double entendre.
Out front, a handsome young Team Jacob look alike pimps the place by playing corn-hole – a game where you bore a hole into a piece of plywood and toss a bean bag at it. I imagine that the game was thought up by a terribly accomplished iconoclast who, having conquered everything in life they ever dreamed they’d conquer, decided they literally had nothing else left to do.
I pop into the bar and find the promoter of the show. The host. He’s a good guy. He’s working hard to make something happen. The host has a way about him. He has a way. I know I have something about me too, but I don’t know just what it is. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it’s a way.
Just before the show, the audience trickles in. Drips in, more like – a double date of old drunks – loud and happy and exactly the kind of people that do not get me.
I do my eight minutes. I walk a table when I talk about Jesus. At least I tell myself that’s the case. It probably has more to do with the bar being empty, but I always assume it’s me. I assume it’s my failure. I let it go. I’ll get ‘em next time. And fuck them anyway – it’s a solid bit.
Bar shows are tricky. The audience didn’t come to a comedy show. A comedy show came to their bar. Sometimes it’s welcome. Sometimes it’s a distraction. I shrug off any impulse I have to take things personal. I hang around long enough to establish a beachhead into the headliner’s set, but I’ve been ready to go since I stepped off stage. The headliner’s not having any better luck than I did, which is a little satisfying. I gulp the last of my water. I thank the promoter for having me on.
I head to the next bar.
Indy comic, Matt Bachus talks about being thin, getting stage time, and how much I hate him.
Dwight talks about what else? Dating white girls.
Cam O'Connor comes by and talks like he knows shit.
Indianapolis! Be sure and come see me and Saleem in person! It's like a podcast where I get to talk first!
Brent Terhune talks Superman, libraries, and poops!
Also, NBC unveils the new host of the Tonight Show! And Case Notes!
The Bloomington funnymen discuss their decades of friendship, David's recent meltdown on stage, and his rampant sex-addiction issues that are possibly yo-yo connected.
Also, Star Wars Episode VII!
One of my local favorites, Jimmy Roberson, pops by to talk about square-dancing, being homeless, and how to get kicked out of the library.
Also, I try another bit. I feel like someone should stop me. Otherwise, I'll never learn.
Dan Swiss from the band, Finding Z performs "Blue" the Big Pretty theme song live! Also, New Jake tries out a new character, Kyle DeWees brings a game to play, and Gerry Gobel talks about the time he played a Klan rally.
Then, a brand new song from Finding Z!!!!!!!
DJ Dangler talks vampire-hunting dogs, bat-hunting cats, and Battlestar Galactica.
Also, Casenotes with Saleem!