Stop Being A Goddamn Pussy

“Stop Being A Goddamn Pussy”

I was 21 years old when my father sat me down on my grandfathers patio and told me he was going to die.

I don’t mean in the poetic sense that we are all going to die someday, I mean in the sense that he was going to die within the next 8-10 months. At this point in my life, both emotionally and financially I was struggling with the terms of being an adult and what that means (and still am). I was working at a crappy burger franchise in New Jersey, struggling to make ends meet in a cave cricket infested basement apartment and commuting into New York City to do open mics. I had not really spoken to my father in months instead resorting to hanging up on him angrily and being a generally angst ridden melancholy mess. But when I received a troubling voicemail that I needed to make the trek back to Pennsylvania to my grandfather’s house to be told something strictly in person by my father, I was a little concerned. I could hear a strangeness in his voice that seemed alien to me; sincerity. And considering my father only seemed capable of expressing cynicism and anger, I was intrigued to say the least.
At 21 years old most people aren’t concerned with mortality. But I was obsessed with it. I think it all started when my maternal grandmother, after battling a long line of health issues and eventually becoming a double amputee, passed away from an infection that caused liver failure. I can remember being forced by my mother to kiss her cold mannequin forehead by my mother. That side of the family always made us do this as funerals. Kiss the forehead of the dead. I can remember the wetness of my lips wiping away her makeup to reveal that her skin had almost turned a sickening black. This awakened a strange morbid curiosity deep within me as a young man. I immediately began researching the possibilities of the paranormal and particularly of ghosts. I became fascinated in watching specials about plagues and archaic torture devices. This digressed in age with me engaging in what my friends referred to as Old Jewish Mother conversations.
“Who died this week? How? Ah, figures. Sad bastard.”
When I arrived at my dad’s parents house in Newtown (where he was living), my father was hesitant to talk about what was bothering him. In fact everybody at the house was. My dad’s mother well into her bout with Alzheimer resorted to laying on the couch and babbling to herself while my grandfather read the paper over a cup of tea. My father for once in my life seemed more interested in talking about what was going on in my life, which to me came as a surprise. He asked about the novel I was working on at the time, and after reading him a lengthy passage, he actually told me for one of the few times in my life that maybe I had a future in writing. Well, he didn’t actually say that word for word. I think what he actually said was something along the lines of –
“I think you got something there son.”
After much annoyance at small talk and prodding, my father took me outside to the patio and forced me to sit down for the news. He confessed to me that he had seen a doctor after feeling weak. After some tests, he was told that he had severe liver cirrhosis of 76% (so exact!) and that he had roughly 8-10 months to live. I was floored but after seeing him it began to make sense. My father was a severe alcoholic and since the last time I had seen him he had lost about forty pounds. His skin and eyes had turned an odd tint of yellow. As he lit a cigarette and deeply exhaled, I began to see my father for what he actually was. No longer was he this barbaric savage man I had known but instead a weathered and meager one. He grabbed me roughly and made promise not to tell anyone of his little secret. The family didn’t need to worry about him. Not quite knowing how to react to this or knowing what to say I suggested we grab lunch somewhere close by.
My father took me to his favorite pub. We begrudgingly sat at the bar and after much convincing he forced me to order a pint of beer over a hearty fattening beef sandwich. Not feeling too hungry himself, my father didn’t order any food but instead choose to order over the course of lunch 4 double vodka sodas. Which unsurprisingly to me he was able to finish before I even finished my pint. I begged him not to drink around me especially given the circumstances but all my father could say was –
“What difference does it make now?”
Welp, I guess he was right. Bottoms up.
At one point he stopped the bartender, a very cute brunette girl around my age, and told her of his strapping handsome boy who was a big shot comedian in New York City (which was false on both accounts). I was surprised. My father was not well known for dishing out compliments.
Truth be told my father was never a compassionate man growing up. Upon coming home from work my fathers favorite passtime activities usually consisted of shouting obscenities at the TV during a hockey game or toiling away on some remote controlled toy in his shed away from the family. This man talking me up at the bar was the same man who once pulled me aside in my bedroom as an awkward teenager and confessed to me that my problems didn’t really matter as I didn’t have a mortgage yet. This was also the same man who used a straight razor and a mirror to cut out his hemorrhoids himself when he was my age. So the fact that he even went to a doctor for feeling weak baffled me to no end.
Feeling uncomfortable sitting in a bar knowing he was about to kick the bucket from years of sitting in bars, I suggested we do something else. Since my father instilled in me a love of comic books and cartoons, we decided to go the movie theater down the street to see The Amazing Spiderman. I had to drive his iconic black 2002 Dodge Dakota as he was too drunk.
The theater itself was considered one of the oldest in the country and was preserved by the historical society of Newtown. It didn’t have a sprawling concession stand or a massive screen and it sure as hell didn’t seat 500 people. It sat maybe fifty, and one guy gave you a small bag of popcorn and a can of coke. His name was Steve. The theater was old and simple, not unlike my father.
I don’t remember much of the movie. To be frank it bored me and I was a little too preoccupied to pay attention. I remember it being ungodly cold, despite it being summer and I resorted to pulled my legs up to my chest and shivering. At some point my father disappeared to go to the bathroom. For about forty minutes. When he returned he reeked of Newports and vodka. I’m still now sure where he was able to get more alcohol but at that point I didn’t really mind. I had given up on trying to help him fight his addiction for the evening. Truth be told, at that point in my life anybody could tell you I had my own issues with drinking and abusing substances. Hell, even know I’m writing this in my room smoking from a two foot tall hookah and drinking a twenty ounce sugar free Red Bull.
The only thing I really do remember from the movie was right at the ending. Just as Peter Parker resigns himself to being Spiderman and saving the city, he remembers that iconic speech Uncle Ben gave him. Everybody knows it, the one about how with great responsibility comes great power but this reboot added something a little more. Uncle Ben talked about how Peter had a special gift inside him that he owed the world to express. I immediately began thinking of my father subtly praising my writing and began to get emotional. It was as if the movie was speaking directly to us. I reached my hand over and comfortingly put it on my father’s trembling knee. I looked up at him, and for a brief moment we stared at each other. Just as tears began to well up into my eyes my father said –
“Stop being a goddamn pussy.”
And we both laughed at each other.
We drove home in silence and I helped my stumbling father up the driveway of his father’s house. I tucked him into bed and he confessed that he loved and was actually proud of me.
I told him to stop being a goddamn pussy and he drifted off to sleep.
I returned to New Jersey with this immense secret like bile trying to work its way out of me. I wanted to tell somebody but couldn’t out of respect. I became irritable and isolated at work. It eventually got to the point where I nearly suffered a nervous breakdown and had to be excused to cry in the nearby food court of the mall. I attempted to uneasily stomach some cheap Bourbon chicken while contemplating that this past Father’s Day with my dad might be the last I get. And that I had chosen to work, serving heart clogging burgers and endless fries instead of taking my dad out for a fishing trip. The man had taught me how to gut and clean a fish after all.
I eventually fell into a heavy depression that strained my relationship. My timid sweet girlfriend felt helpless trying to console a moping lug like me who could do nothing but watch the movie Big Fish on loop. The entire situation seemed helpless. Even if my father could find a matching liver donor, nobody in their right mind would donate with his extensive history of alcoholism, multiple DUI’s and stints in rehab.
I had to tell somebody. I didn’t care what he said. I had to. It was driving me insane, but who could I tell? My sister only being ten at the time obviously couldn’t know, and I certainly couldn’t tell my mother. Being consumed in a bitter divorce proceeding, she would use any evidence against him in court to gain leverage. Even this. So, I resorted to telling my younger brother instead.
My brother and my father had a rocky relationship to say the least. They hadn’t had a meaningful conversation in years. They just simply did not get along and the most mundane of conversations ended in a heated debate with name calling. They were fundamentally very different people. My brother was an opinionated liberal and my father was a staunch Republican. My brother was an atheist and my father was a devout Catholic. My brother was openly homosexual and my father was an ignorant asshole. His simple minded 70’s machismo wouldn’t let him validate that lifestyle. Actually it’s no surprise as to why neither my brother nor I got along with him. He wasn’t the most supportive of people.
When I dropped midway out of a biochemistry degree in college to pursue my lifelong dream of writing and stand up comedy my father was less than thrilled to say the least. Often telling me to just give up and work a 9-5 job in a warehouse or garage to help him support the mortgage. Maybe he never dreamed big or maybe he was just a jaded realist, I don’t really know. When my brother got accepted into Columbia University, my father couldn’t even tell you where my brother was living or even what his major was. I’m still not sure he knows exactly where I live.
Regardless I felt like I had to tell somebody. I can distinctly remember shivering on the driveway of my mother’s house one night after dragging my brother outside. I told him everything. The sickness, how he looked and acted, how he actually showed remorse. My brother simply rolled his eyes and proclaimed –
“Well, I bet he has a lot of regrets now, doesn’t he?”
I for once truly believed he did.
Not even two weeks later, my father was driving home from work well into his third plastic pint of vodka when he fell asleep at the wheel. The truck collided with an electric pole knocking it over and careened into a ditch only stopping when it wrapped itself around a hefty tree. The force of the impact caused all of the windows to blow out and the cab of the truck to be blown off. The truck had been completely totaled and when the ambulance arrived my father had to essentially be pulled from the car with the jaws of life. He sustained no injuries with the exception of a bruise and a loose tooth. The luck of a drunk, I suppose.
I had to pick him up from the hospital. I remember pulling a nurse aside to ask her the extent of his injuries. He appeared fine but was there any internal bleeding, broken bones, a strained neck, anything? No, she said. With some strange suspicion building up inside me I had to ask. How is his liver? She said that although no extensive tests had been done, his levels all appeared fine. Had it all been a lie? Was he really as sick as he professed? Or was this some strange ploy to get his children to speak with him again because he felt lonely?
I’m not sure I’ll ever know for sure. But what I do know for sure is that my father almost three years later is still alive. Somehow. Still drinking like a fish. And I still rarely return his phone calls.

The Hamster Rant or Addled Adderall Asinine Aggresively Apathetic Rants

So I found this recently  on my computer from when I thought I was apparently the poor mans  Bill Burr, Bill Hicks and Doug Stanhope. I call it the HoBurraHicksAHopelessHomelessAStan. Can you tell I like like alliteration? Anyways, and now for the humiliation.

Full Disclosure I may or may not have written these completely stoned and tweeked on Adderall. Allegedly.

Hamster Rant

You see we’re just hamster’s carrying AK-47’s.

Weddy to infwiltwate wif cuteness sir!

Let me explain. Too many people. Not enough stuff like food and water which you need to not be dead. I recently saw this Vice documentary about this terrible little Indian slum where people were living out of plastic barrels and kids were grinding away in shops making Walkman. And that’s not even the worst parts! Oh, No! People don’t even use them anymore. They’re inefficient and cost fifty cents. They’re inefficient and they don’t even know!

But in the distance the tallest skyscraper in the city is like eighty stories tall and is the house for the richest guy in the town. Let me just repeat that, he has so much useless shit that he has to put it all in a skyscraper. With a full staff, who just kinda watches and organizes he endless collecton of what I can only assume is reruns of the Kardashians, hair gel and gold chains. And he drives Lamborghini’s around in the street with the common folk! Next to like a dude with like a bag of a couple thousand plastic bottles on a moped and he’s carrying a rooster and a donkey. And they’re carrying scrap plastic too.

African Overload
Imagine this bull fuck of a monstrosity but on a tiny blue moped from the Cold War. 

And you could see the reporter with almost tears in their eyes asking the plastic people making george foreman grills, how they could deal with that guy in town? And you could almost see, it was hard for them, to just to not say “Oh Frank, we’re all about to murder that guy.Yeah at midnight, Phil, the gang and I are pulling this greasy Armani wearing fat ass, and probably spit roast him. Because he is more nutritious than mud crumbs out of an old Fritos bag.”

“Welcome to my humble abode peons…” Seriously go fuck that guy with a platinum plated jeweled dildo.



cute hamster
So friggin’ cute. And fluffy! Just like people before they grow up.


See I think people are kinda like hamsters, if there’s one or just a few they’re pretty adorable. Just imagine one day you’re in your house and these adorable little two inch tail people just show up. They’re precious and dance with all these little ideas. But they’re procreating like hamsters, and everything is covered in hamster people. You’re wading through the litle bastards. Pretty soon you’re like there’s too many fucking hamster people! I can’t shower, or lay down, or move or jerk off with out feeling guilty. They judge me! Oh, my god is that one smoking crack and suicide bombing the other one? Is that one taking pictures of the other one’s naked ass to break the internet? They have to be stopped! Next thing you know you’re punting them into walls, and putting them in blenders, making meat smoothies, just curb stomping all those little mother fuckers into the furry oblivion from whence they came from. You would be so angry at how shitty and plentiful these hamster people were until you begin screaming I am become Death! The many headed god of hamster apolcalypse! Feel my wraith Mr. Snuggles! That’s kinda what I think of people. Worthless little fluffy things with AK-47’s. They were cool when it was just started. But now they’re kinda lame.


“They got too big for their own good. I knew them before they were cool.” -Hipster Hamster Dude circa Williamsburg












Which brings me to next bane of my existence and solution to my sanity, I’m talking about World Star Hip Hop. Which is essentially Youtube for morons. I would say they should be sterilized but in most of the videos they doing it themselves with nutshots. Who is more dangerous to society twats pulling out each other’s weaves in a McDonalds lobby while holding their babies? Or methed out rednecks 9/11 illumanti truthers firing RPG’s in the woods and screaming ‘Murica? Answer is neither. They’re equal.

Please consult this music video for further advice.

Sometimes I seriously feel like with every video I watch of someone doing the Nay Nay, I lose a chapter from Ulysses that I read. Like after hearing people fascistly chat “World Star! World Star” for a few hours, I lose brains cells and memories. I’ m like “Damnit! I lost my first kiss! Just lot that one. Shit, yep. All my Anchorman quotes are gone! Milk was a bad choice!” But there is a flipside if you will. A silver lining. With every douche that bites it accidentally parkourking off a construction site or leaping into the tiger pit at the zoo, I feel the human race getting a little stronger. Natural Selection. The dumbest are weeding themselves out for fame and paving the way for my curdled gene pool. Now I’m not saying every life doesn’t matter, I’m just saying most of them don’t.
The way I see it my pudgy pale nerdy CHUD-looking offspring might be able to live fulfilling lives. Lives without weirdly innapappropriatedren beauty pagents, homophobia, mysogngy, the band One Direction or police officers killing unarmed people. If we keep ourselves learning and let these scat munching caveman dude die out, we might just make it. World Star Hip Hop has inspired my hopes for books in the future and for humanity. It has also inspired my hopes for more twerking asses. Lots of twerking asses.












Somehow it’s cuter when puppies do it.
Look at these bitches go!
They fell in puppy love in a boneless place.
These puppies are just doing it to get back at their stepdad, Chad! You’re not our real dad!
Look at these Thotweilers!


Alright, that’s all I got.


Oh Yeah, I Run a Show Now: Raunchy & Risque!

And you should like totally check it out by clicking the banner below:







It’s at 10pm on the 1st and 3rd Sunday of every month at the lovely The Creek And The Cave Comedy Club (10-93 Jackson Avenue, Long Island City, NY 11101) (718) 706-8783










Here’s a little bio about the show and a small mention in the Village Voice:

“RAUNCHY RISQUE is the brainchild of comedians Freddie and Charles Stunning. Bringing comedy back to its vaudeville and cabaret roots, R & R is a no holds barred strictly R-rated comedy variety show. Proudly featuring filthy stand up and story telling acts sandwiched between some of the hottest burlesque acts in the city. If you want to be shocked, disgusted and slightly turned on, then come out to see one of the most outrageous shows this city has to offer.
Featuring the insatiable sultry vixen Charles Stunning who is part of the hilarious Afterbirth Monkey comedy musical duo (known for their many comedy festival appearance and award winning music video It’s Raining Dicks) and Freddie Heinemann (UCB graduate and NYC comedian).”

And from the Village Voice (click for article):

Raunchy and Risque

The Creek and the Cave, [Sunday], 10pm, [Free]

Don’t bring your mother to the Creek tonight. This new show is trying to inject some old-school vaudeville and cabaret salaciousness into stand-up comedy. Strictly R-rated, it blends dirty joke-tellers with morally liberated burlesque performers.”

Here a few pictures to gaze your lovely vision balls upon from our Christmas 2014 show:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Pretty sexy eh? I know. Schnazzy as fuck. Anyways, check out our next one, which is tonight! Click the poster below for more info:

New poster

Added Another Show!

Come check me out on:

Tuesday 7/29

8PM The Creek and The Cave (10-93 Jackson Ave, New York, NY 11101
(718) 706-8783) For Nick Vatterot’s show!


And at my most recent show opening for the Internet Disagrees!

Sunday 6/8

10PM The Creek and The Cave (10-93 Jackson Ave, New York, NY 11101
(718) 706-8783)  To do stand up for the hilarious The Internet Disagrees show!

Alright my friends, my peeps, my cohorts, my noun for friends! I have a couple shows coming up! Hooray!


Come check me out at:
Wednesday 5/27

8pm Stand Up NY (236 W 78th St, New York, NY 10024

(212) 595-0850)

Sunday 6/1

8PM RAPTURE LOUNGE (34-27 28th Ave, Astoria, NY 11103
(718) 626-8044) for the incredible Afterbirth Monkey show!

Sunday 6/1

10PM The Creek and The Cave (10-93 Jackson Ave, New York, NY 11101
(718) 706-8783)  To do stand up for the hilarious The Internet Disagrees show!

Monday 6/9

7PM Casual Showcase (448 E 13th St, New York, NY 10009
(646) 746-1357)

Wednesday 7/16

8PM StandupNY (236 W 78th St, New York, NY 10024
(212) 595-0850)

The Day The Girl Left And Another Came In

The day Brenda left me I found myself aimless. I trudged into work completely defeated. My bones ached with every step like a rusted automaton and my body reeked of filth and cold sweat. My facial hair was a little longer than it should have been and my shirt was wrinkled. As I neared the top of the steps I stammered for a moment and the hostesses laughed asking if I was still drunk from the night before. I grabbed myself a cold glass of ginger ale and tried to ease my burning stomach. It didn’t help.
Right after I greeted my first table I rushed to the bathroom and vomited all over the toilet seat.
Looking in the mirror I agreed that despite my dark purple bags that I was still quite a catch. Stacey was thankfully not there that day to reprimand me but Tim threatened to write me up for my appearance. I knew as spineless as he was that he would never. So I drifted tabled to table taking orders and halfheartedly trying to make small talk. My crushed demeanor didn’t make many upsells but did surprisingly grant me with large tips.
The entire shift became a blur as tables whirred past. Customers, I mean guest’s faces became unmemorable. The same table asking for extra biscuits became the same table asking for hot water to clean their silverware. In between helping guests I looked out longingly at the window facing the avenue and watched as countless hordes of people went about their lives. I admired them so seemingly unaware of anything around them.
Thankfully, Fitz wasn’t there to annoy or get a rise out of me and I coasted apathetically.
As the shift neared to a close and the last tables began to leave I began to scarf down a half-eaten overcooked steak a table had returned. Gus, one of the forgettable servers, came in to tell me I had a one top left to deal with right at closing. With a groan and a mush of meat in my mouth I slammed open the doors to the dining room to greet them. I stared at the almost empty dining room so close to victory, when I saw a bright pink head of hair sitting by herself. I immediately spit out my cold dinner into a trashcan and marched over.
“What are you doing here?” I asked coldly. She didn’t stare up from her book.
“Can I please get a hot cup of Earl Grey, Alex?” She asked authoritatively.
“Sure. You didn’t answer my question.” I asked standing over her. Calmly she placed a bookmark in her copy of Ulyssess and stared up at me. Her icy blue eyes gave a shiver down my spine. I straightened instinctively.
“Is this how you treat all of your customers?” She stared at me defiantly.
“If so, I wouldn’t expect a good tip.” She stared solemnly.
“I thought you already read that book.” I asked pointing with my pen.
“It’s a good book. What can I say? I deservers a second read. Don’t you think?” She asked smirking.
“Only got half way through it. It was difficult to read.” I responded.
“Oh was it? Sounds like someone I know.” She chuckled.
“Very funny.”
“Are you going to bring my tea or not?” She asked tapping impatiently on the table top.
“Right away miss.” I walked away annoyed. As I prepared her tea slamming things down on the counter, Gus came over to calm me.
“What’s wrong?” He asked innocently as he put the expired milk cartons away.
“Fuck off.” I replied angrily as I walked away. I plopped the tea on the table causing the water to spill over.
“Thank you. I always enjoy a nice hot tea at this hour.” She said smiling.
“I know.” I said without walking away. She removed her bookmark and began reading again as I stood over her threateningly. When she realized I wasn’t going to leave she looked up.
“Can I help you?” She asked with her sweet misguiding doe eyes. I took the seat opposite from her. My apron bunched up uncomfortably and I winced.
“What do you want?” I asked staring at her. She splayed her hands out on the table defensively.
“I thought you were going to take this town by storm.” She asked looking for a response but my tired eyes had none.
“When you left me you told me you were moving away to this big city to follow your dreams. You were going to hit it big and forget about the rest of us back home.” She stirred her tea as I remained silent. She looked up at me as she added sugar.
“Isn’t that what you said?” She asked calmly.
“I did.” I confessed. “But things don’t go as you plan.”
“Tell me about it.” She said as she took a sip looking at me the entire time.
“What do you want?” I repeated frustrated. She sighed satisfied as she finished her long sip.
“I have a proposition for you.” She said as she laid the cup down with a clang.
“Listen. Don’t speak. I’m going to leave you my number. Tomorrow at three I want you to text me. You follow?” She ordered. I nodded numbly. She scribbled a note down on a napkin and grasped my hands tightly in hers. Her cold eyes never broke focus.
“Today is the last day you feel unimportant.” She said and she winked and slowly got up and began to walk away book in hand. Her slinky hips swayed in those striped leggings I used to adore.
“What about the tea?” I asked.
“It’s on me.” She called out with a wave as she disappeared.

I’m Not Dead Yet! Some show dates.

So I haven’t been very good at updating this thing with show dates…or at all. But here are some dates of mine coming up!


APRIL 13th – Rapture Lounge (34-27 28th Ave, Astoria, NY 11103) 7:30 PM

This should be a fun one as it is a Vaudeville style variety show hosted by the lovely taco infatuated comedy duo




APRIL 27th – Rapture Lounge (34-27 28th Ave, Astoria, NY 11103) 8 PM

Performing for Ben Rosenfeld’s awesome comedy shows!

MAY 12th – Casual Showcase ( M.White Bar, 448 E. 13th Street, between 1st and A) 7 PM

This is for the lovely Leanne Linksy and her great group Casual Sketch, Free show with a one drink minimum!

MAY 21st – Character Flawed (STAND UP NY 236 W 78th St, New York, NY 10024) 8 PM

The famous Character Flawed up and coming show is a 13 year staple in the comedy community hosted by Bob Dibuono. Tickets are $15, 2 drink min. By them online or at the door!


I’ve Been Trying To Get LSD For Weeks And This Family Just Finds It In Their Beef!

I’ve Been Trying TO Get LSD For Weeks And This Family Just Finds It In Their Beef!

Check it out by clicking on the green banner above!

I can’t say I’m necessarily surprised that something this outrageous happened in Florida. Although I must admit that eating beef, and inadvertently tripping from it and causing you to go into labor might win the award for WORST TRIP ever. Giving birth to any child, let alone in the crazy Twilight Zone episode that is Florida is terrible enough but having to do it while tripping must have been completely insane. Then again, maybe she just hallucinated being pregnant in the first place?

Nope. It’s Not Showtime. Motherfucker.

Thank god this happened! (courtesy of the Gothamist)

“The NYPD says Shamik Watson, 20, and Andrew Washington, 18, were arrested last Friday for breakdancing on a crowded northbound A train around 12:30 in the afternoon (a.k.a. Showtime). A plainclothes officer who was riding the train spotted the two, and apparently his heart wasn’t moved by their dancing and somersaulting.

Both men have been charged with reckless endangerment for dancing. A police source explained to DNAInfo that they “caused a hazard to themselves and others around them, and made excessive noise by blaring music from a stereo.”

This is where I write stuff…sometimes


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,593 other followers

%d bloggers like this: