You know that I could use somebody.

Swine flu mania strikes the Iron City! Saw my first medical mask-wearing dummy at the airport today. I'm fairly sure they were wearing the mask as a cute, but utterly useless deterrent, because run of the mill germaphobes are not morbidly obese, and they sure as hell don't pick up newspapers.

Christ, Westerners are pathetic! Do you know how many people in the Third World have some sort of respiratory influenza right now?? How many are getting antibiotics? We should follow their example and just go away for a few days, and if we don't die, come back to our houses, which aren't, coincidentally, made of dung and four miles from a well. Man up, America!

I've been thinking of growing a hipster mustache. Or a child molester mustache. I'm not really sure what difference, if any there is, but I don't think I have the long term commitment required to pull it off. It would take me literally six weeks to grow any sort of discernible mustache, and even then, half the kids in your average middle school could put me to shame. Besides, I don't really need the mustache to look like the kind of dude who might be prone to twittering a kid or three. Genetics took care of that quite well already.

Now that the Kings of Leon are famous, the hipsters have abandoned them, which is good for people like you, and people like me. Notice how I didn't say "people like you and me?" It's because very few people are like me. This is both good and bad, often at the same time. Anyways, Kings of Leon are really good, and worthy of your music-buying dollar. White boy soul never gets old or cliche. Michael McDonald would be proud.

Speaking of Michael McDonald... RECOGNIZE! Fucker can s-i-n-g!


I put fake Italian sausage in some pasta last night. It was very good. The Dr. Pepper only made things better.

I would like to start drinking wine with the meals I am getting more into cooking, but I know my palate is not sophisticated enough, and if I'm paying that kind of money for booze, I'd prefer to hang with my tried and true friend, Mr. Daniel's. Jack is like a dog that never runs away and always sticks his head out of the window while you're driving. (Don't worry, it makes sense to me.)

I still have much to learn in this life.


Re-emerging myself in the music of The Beatles, in particular, Rubber Soul and Revolver. How did four men and various side musicians and producers make such great music happen as amazingly as they did? Worse than The Riddle of Steel, this is. Less than three minutes in length, but entirely timeless.


Seriously, close your eyes and play the video above again. If you don't understand that you're insignificant immediately, kill yourself.

It's not like a fetish or anything, I mean, I don't NEED you to be covered in nacho cheese or anything...-BK

Gilbert Grape Juice.

He is too fearless and true to his heart to be as famous as he deserves to be. Definitely one of the torch bearers for me.


I put these bastards together for dinner last night. Morningstar burgers with melted American and Cheddar cheese diced up so the buns could better receive them. Fried up some peppers for them too. Very, very good.


I've been trying to motivate myself to start exercising again, in small doses, but even that seems too much to ask of me. Maybe I've been drinking too much instead of dancing. I used to dance for at least two hours a few nights a week, but I've cut that down and refocused that energy on booze. Best to turn the tables. By the way, I don't just "sway" when I dance. I get physical. I like to wave my arms, stomp my feet, spin/twirl around, and be a sweaty, carefree manbeast out there. I gotta find that fire again! Just writing about it makes me miss it!

This blew my mind. Soooooooo creative. Last clip is incredible!


Friday is Wolverine. Which means Terminator is on the horizon, growing steadily larger. It's going to be a great movie summer!

Speaking of Terminator, "they" cancelled TTSCC! This makes me very made. It's really shitty for networks to change a program's timeslot to Friday nights. Especially a science-fiction/action program. It's demographic of 18-40 year-old men is out doing things on Friday nights, and the nerd core is not strong enough to draw advertising dollars with it's meager Nielson numbers! Oh well, guess I'll just drink on Fridays now. Friday night used to be the traditional Ben Kenny night of rest, but unless and until some other show captures my heart, booze will work it's way back onto the scene.

Twitter is popular because it's easy. It's not some revolution, or a new era. It's just easy and quick, the way Americans, and from our influence, the world, likes it.

So this Swine Flu seems to be a real bad ass motherfucker. Better stock up on ginger ale and make sure I have saltines and toast. I ain't scared if I got saltines! Do your worst!

Running both at the same time is not advisable.-BK

Peen.

This month's GQ has a great interview with Jay Leno. I never liked Leno when I was younger, in part, probably, because he is so damn likable without looking to be liked. What I used to think was hacky I now realize is smart business, and Jay Leno and his staff are very good at that business. This is a group of people who write and perform wide ranging stand-up comedy that is performed nightly for tens of millions of people, and they've been doing it for almost twenty years.

Contest happened. I'm not even sure if I can say I did bad or good. I was there, existing, and that will have to be enough.

One of the best frontmen ever. Genre unimportant.


If I were a pro wrestler, this would be my entrance theme.


Woke up this morning. Used the washroom. Retired to bed until 2:30 PM. Yes!

I'm thinking Arby's as well.-BK

If you only hear it in the night.

This house is going to fucking be mine, and it's both exciting and utterly terrifying.

It takes roughly, 4:13 to get home from Belvedere's whilst drunk at 1:24 in the morning with, in the words of the Konkdaddy, "a mighty poo a-brewin'." Thought you might like to know that. Don't know how long it will take with the new place. It's further, and by common logic, longer, so I may need to locate, field test, explore, and refine, "emergency" option(s.)

Hey fuck-suck! Yes, you! Got nothing to do on Saturday night!? Well, you and your associate(s), family members, pussy/cock connection(s), and life-long friends should come out to the Royal Place, and watch me win the comedy contest. That's right, I intend to dominate the fuck out of it! This is where lesser comedians (i.e. every comedian not Ben Kenny) would beg you to vote for them, but I know that you will anyways, as I'm going to be miles above and kilometers further than any other comic there. That's a guarantee you can take to the motherfucking bank! Please use PNC though, as I hate service fees.

Seriously, my beloved bitches, it's only five bucks, and the drinks are about as cheap as you're ass is gonna find in the Iron City on a Saturday night. Besides, it would mean a significant amount of a lot to me if yinz folks could make it out. Tell them you came to see Ben Kenny, and make sure your bring protection. It's going to be like a Gallagher show, circa 1987, but with slightly less blood and screaming. Contact me for more info and directions, or just if you're feeling lonely and need a friendly finger or two to ride. I offer the fingers, because I'm drunk on the weekends, and I get mad whiskey dick.

I used to have khaki Dickies. Sometimes, in the middle of the night/early morning, like when this was written, I sigh, and miss them with all of my heart.

Here's a song that is not heard nearly enough these days.


Eighties was pretty "off" feeling last night. Or perhaps it just felt that way because I was sober.

Anyone dumb enough to let family manage their career deserves to lose money.-BK

Personal Legend.

I thought about Taylor Swift's pubic hair grooming habits today. It's best not to ask why, and just accept, like with Dane Cook. Mostly because my lack of an answer would force me to spin into an uncontrollable, Hulk-like rage.

Departed work early to see a baseball game. Sat in the absolute front row, on the baseline, trying not to stare at the asses of the first base coaches. These were the best seats I've ever had. We were literally close enough to see players flinch a little when others in our section heckled them, and at least twenty balls were thrown to our area of the course of the game.

Being this close does give one a new respect for the athleticism and skill required to play the game at the level they play, but they still make too much money!

Here are a few crappy cell phone pictures. The stadium was empty because it was fifty degrees and raining, and because it was the Pittsburgh Pirates against the Seattle Mariners.




I found myself at a Mazda dealership the other day, and a salesperson approached me. I hurled my feces at him. It's my subtle way of telling him I really am "just looking." The Mazda3 hatchback is a tight car though. Very tight. Sexy, yet attainable, much like Jenna Fischer. If I had to choose though, I'd take the car. Women don't come with steering wheel audio controls, something I miss dearly from my Saab era. Although it broke down all the time, it was still the most fun car I've ever had, and Mazda's engineering is comparable.

Recently, Rolling Stone actually ran a story about a legitimate musical talent, a man by the name of Kris Kristofferson.

Over the course of his life, the man has been an Army officer, a helicopter pilot, a singer/songwriter, actor, father to eight kids, daily drinker, political activist, and above all, a free spirit. He is America. Good, bad, ugly, and beautiful. He is a national treasure, and he'd probably punch you in the face for calling him one.

He wrote what I consider to be the best "country" lyric of all-time, quintessential, in fact:

"An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day."


He's written countless songs for countless artists, and I chose this version of one especially because it is so drastically different from the popular version. Janis sang it with a lot of soul, which is great, but Johnny sat back a little, and let the weight of the words, the hurt and longing, sink into your heart.


I very much like Tweeting/Twittering. At least for the moment. Seems to be a tasty cultural flavor of the month. Easier than blogging, and twice as futile and stupid. Not onboard yet? Click right fucking here, or just look to your right if your reading this via Blogspot.

I know what you mean, except I've been asleep all day.-BK

I've jumped from every rooftop.

I did something I haven't done in literally years the other night. I went out to a local comedy show merely to watch. It was Terry Jones' DVD taping, and it was a really fun time. I don't have any recent recollection of being as happy for someone as I was for Terry that night. The room was absolutely packed with his friends, family, and even a few fellow comics out to support him. He is the hardest working comic I know, and his natural comedic ability combined with that work ethic is going to take him very far in this game. He's only twenty-two, and he's far, far better than people who've been around for a decade. What makes Terry a unique and rare comic talent is the fact that he is a genuinely nice, pure soul. He likes life, and himself, and I think, no, I know, a lot of comics in this town are jealous of him for that.

Although our styles couldn't be much more different, we've become great friends based on our shared opinions about comedy. We are both students of the great Masters, and we try to apply their lessons in our art.

And we're both artists. The other night, Terry talked about comedy as an art in his webcam chat, and he was spot on.

Stand up is the hardest performing art. You have no band, usually no collaborator or visuals, and it's expected that you're writing the material in addition to performing it. We both want to see comedy get it's due as an art form. Great art, regardless of medium or form, moves the public watching it. Comedy does that through laughter, which somehow makes it seem less legit than painting or reciting lines that you have no emotional investment in.

Terry is like a Terminator. Others sleep and he's out killing.

What do you mean you've got no more chips!?-BK

Let's see a frown!

Sometimes the world is against you, and you've got no one to rely upon but yourself, and you let it rip regardless. She seems like too polite of a woman to hold up both hands, middle fingers raised, but she has every right to. People like her inspire me to no end. I was truly moved by this. Sometimes, inherent goodness can triumph. Look for the reaction shots of Simon Cowell smiling. That says it all. The embedding codes on all the videos have been disabled, but click the link if you've ever had a dream.

I was looking forward to living it up yesterday, but I got a call from work, informing me that my presence was required at 5 AM this morning. Shit fuck!

I've driven past Dairy Queen about 8 times without ordering anything. I think that may change in the very near future.

What I would give to have been 17 years old instead of 1 year old in 1985.


It's the best movie about arm wrestling ever made.-BK

Bogo?

Went to see Observe and Report yesterday. Fittingly, I will now report my observations about the movie to you.

What a horrible movie. Movies, and storytelling in general, are only effective when we can sympathize and identify with the characters, especially the leads. Their was nothing likable or endearing about the Seth Rogen character in this movie, and if he has to be extremely likable to be watchable, as he doesn't have looks to compensate for weak writing. This movie had no villain or main challenge, either, which, in movies is akin to setting a lifeboat adrift in an ice flow. Just dumb all around.

I can understand the intent of this movie, the writer/director wanted to win the audience over, Bad Santa-style, but his talent is not grand enough to support his vision. The new breed of comedy film is incredibly disgusting, but none forget to include the underlying sweetness of the human relationships involved. This one did, and the only reason it got put out there is because of the star power of the headliner.

Show last night didn't materialize due to hockey.

Looks like I'm hitting St. James like Tyson hit Givens. Maybe 80's night too. I don't have a fighting simile for that one, sorry.

Just awesome.


Here's some more animation. Just because Ben Kenny loves you, and wants you to have a smidgen of happiness in your day!


Saw the back of my head in a mirror yesterday. Shit. Just "Shit.". I am going bald. I have a bald spot. I am not "thinning." I am fucking "balding." I am twenty-five years old, and my body is dying on me already. This is why I'm reluctant to quit drinking. I do not want to get started on my back hair, which seems to have become sentient. Again... Shit.

Sixty cents off of every gallon of gas at some point this week. Cashing in my Eagle Fuel Perks is a monthly highlight. It don't take much to make me happy folks.

I am still waiting for my camera to get back from the shop. Then I will tape myself drunk, and you will never see it.

Up the hill a ways.-BK

Fake chicken nugget time!

Well, I fucking did it. Finally.

www.twitter.com/benkennycomedy

Subscribe, and follow virtually constant updates about the banal aspects of my daily "life." I'm going to "tweet" the fuck out of this town! This will make my Facebook status update frequency look pathetic. Be warned.

George Michael is like the Superman of the entertainment industry. Only one thing can kill him, but no one seems to know what it is. As an entertainer, I idolize the guy. Killer style, great voice, and unshakable confidence. Cool for thirty years now. Think about that for a second. Thirty fucking years in an industry as picky as music! Massive ability. Massive!


Seether's cover of this song is absolutely horrid, but everyone in Pittsburgh is too stupid to realize it.


Mmm... that George Michael was pretty tasty. Best to chase him with some Meat Loaf.


Meat Loaf is one of those performers whose art is only really effective when he's going full bore, 100%, no mercy, kill em' all, no fear style. Great art is about sweat, passion, heart, and flair. Meat Loaf had it in troves. He had(still has) a surplus of ass kicking talent.

---

Speaking of extraordinary talent, I put on pants, and went out in the rain to perform for about six people tonight. A lot of comedians are too "big" for a room like that, but fuck them. I had a great time, and more importantly, I was funny! I'd rather be performing for six people than no one, any night of the week, any place, anytime.

I think comedians who think a show is below them are fucking stupid. Especially in Pittsburgh. Blow me if you disagree, but please, be classy about it. By "classy" I mean no teeth.

Two days off. What to do?

I know! Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Eat some cookies, maybe make a little mac n' cheese, and sleep.

Being in Chicago for Easter kind of reaffirmed how lame the town is. It doesn't suck or anything, but it's not the greatest place ever. People are always surprised to find out I'm from the Windy City, and have willingly moved away from it. It's just a town, a place. It is the kind of place you make it out to be, I guess. I just didn't really want to live there forever. So I moved. Simple, right?

Honestly though, I will never move back to Chicago. Too much to see. Too much to do.

Been frying up some eggplant as of late. Shit's really good.

Monday, in addition to being the anniversary/remembrance of the Oklahoma City bombing, Waco massacre, Hitler's birthday, and pot smoker day, is the Shadow Lounge! I'll be there talking about all/some/none of the above, and I'll be worth watching. As if I wasn't enough to draw you away from whatever bullshit network reality television you watch every Monday, other comedians will be there too! I guarantee at least one good joke that sexualizes food. I think that's the Columbine anniversary too, but I celebrate that every hour of every day, so I'm not certain.

It's kind of weird, scary, and disturbing how much common ground I can find with a lot of the "extremists" in the world today. I think my atheism and relative lack of views based on race/ethnicity keep me on the other side of the river from most of them, and I'm pretty thankful and happy for that.

Politically, I firmly believe that the government's role and influence in the daily lives of Americans should be severely reduced, but I don't believe government itself is evil by default. I think once any entity gets too big and too old, it starts to die, and attempts to validate itself through domination. I also believe peanut butter anything is delicious!

It's not "gyro" you douches! A gyro stabilizes something. When's the last time you didn't have to shit within hours of eating one?! The Defense rests, Your Honor.-BK

Terrifying.

Relaxing at home, or, in actuality, merely the house I grew up in. Ahhh.

Back in the swing of things in PGH next week. It's gonna be a big fucking week, too.

Tuesday, I'll be at the Smiling Moose, as regular as rain in Portland.

Wednesday, I'll be at The Obey House, with Brad Ryan, cracking wise and eating fries.

Thursday, maybe the St. James Place. Even though I may not make it, you should still go, as it's a good time.

Saturday is Terry Jones DVD taping. Be there for that shit. Fucking be there!

The 25th is the competition finals. Information on the will be forthcoming.

And now, some observations about DirectTV:

Hmmm. Patrick Swayze dying of cancer doesn't really justify the shitty-ass TV show he's in. It blows.

Dennis Quaid is a far better Doc Holliday than Val Kilmer, but Kurt Russell is a more badass Wyatt Earp than Kevin Costner.

Pale Rider is still better than both of the films alluded to above. Fiction kicks ass.

Superbad rocks too.

Quite possibly the best photo ever taken. At least the best non-sexual photo. Although I suppose somewhere, someone, is or will be getting off to it. This photo makes the April cover of the Life magazine in my head.



Only in Germany!

This is the best ever!-BK

...a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?

I'm not writing as often because I'm "over" it, as the kids say. Everyone assumes I'm sad because I'm not shitting onto a keyboard everyday, but I'm still me, just with less of a general interest in electronic shitting at the moment.

What am I going to do this upcoming weekend in Chicago?

Good question. So glad you asked:

1. Eat pizza. Probably Phil's.
2. Drink.
3. Maybe head to the city, go dancing, call a girl I know who has a "coke dealer" apartment in a high rise that overlooks Lake Michigan, dance with her, grope her, et. al.
4. See my extended family, but not my parents, as they will be spending their Easter in Arizona, as they are old.
5. Probably hit a Noodles and Company. That place is fucking good!
6. Drink.

The consensus seems to be that my post about my disregard and lack of respect for police officers was overly aggressive and wrong. Well, the crowd is not always right.

This is a "pants pisser" of a good commercial. Memorable, and funny. Tears from the eyes of the Ben Kenny.


Eighties Night(nite?) was super fun yesterday. Quite drunk even before I rolled in. Met up with Steve and Trish, who're both old enough to remember Boy George with zero sense of irony. No dancing though. Had a sportcoat on, and sweat don't suit it very well.

Donora. A breathtaking local band that should no longer be local. They should be huge, and scoff and sigh pretentiously when interviewers mention their Pittsburgh roots. Cross the bridge out of this town slowly, while spreading an accelerant, and set it alight. Never look back, and never acknowledge it's existence. Keep Pittsburgh secret!


Relatively rare. The Great getting physical. Pryor doing "regular" comedy. Still crazy good, and better than virtually every comedian ever!


Bip, bop, bip, bop, bip, bop, bip, sha, la, la, te, da, la!-BK

Double-sided marital aid.

In comedy, at the end of a set, an engagement, a career, and a life, only one thing ever truly matters. Making them laugh. PERIOD! It doesn't matter what "they" think of you after. Just make them fucking laugh DURING! If you can do that, no matter how you do it, you walk away a winner. No one can take that away from you. If they try, fucking stab them with something.

Been listening to Mastodon's new joint, Crack the Skye, pretty much nonstop. It's the best album I've heard in a long ass time, probably since NIN's With Teeth. Get on it.

One of the best songs ever, and incredible creativity and ability.


I grow fond of Jack and Gingers. Smoked two cigarettes last night. Naughty!

So many comedians yesterday. Not a whole lot to do about it.

Possibly the most underrated comic out there today.


I'm going upstairs for a pretzel, yo.-BK

I know your mind is made up.

Shit, Goddamn, Velveeta is now making single serving sizes of their venerable shells and cheese. They cost a buck thirty-five, and instead of requiring you to mix powder like Easy Mac, come with a packet of cheese sauce. They are sooooo fucking good. Just the thing to nosh on at 5 AM before descending into Hell, AKA the bag room, for a fun-filled day of hurling luggage around.

Three Pittsburgh cops were recently killed in the line of duty, and I'm just sick of hearing about it!

Just because a cop got killed on the job does not make him a hero. It isn't a "tragedy" either. While it's certainly a shitty thing, cops aren't innocents. Cops are very well paid to do what they do, and the majority of their time, they aren't doing shit. Most cops go through their entire career without ever firing a round.

Let's be honest, the vast majority of police officers are dickheads. I'm a 25 year-old white guy with a clean description and newer car, and even I feel hassled by these pricks. Cops don't have the willpower or balls to take control as individuals, so they use a law enforcement career as some sore of gigantic bolster.

Cops write tickets to pay their salaries and partially finance the department's operations, not to keep you or the public safe. Cops don't care about you or me.

I guess what I'm trying to say has best been said already, so I'll drop the quote. In the words of the immortal O'shea Jackson, "Fuck da police!"

Forgot to mention a pretty kickin' rock show I attended the other evening after my pretty kickin' comedy show. I caught the end of The Cheats, a seminal PGH punk act, whom I enjoy quite a bit and the entire set by The River City Rebels, who I initially received poorly, but soon warmed up to. They played incredibly tight and basically impressed me, even if they're of the "Irish drinking song" punk ilk.

I used to totally hate punks, still keep my distance from them. Punk rock is inherently hypocritical in nature. Everyone has different definitions of what's punk, what isn't, what selling out is, what isn't, edge vs. drunk kids, skins, queers, etc... Just shut your fucking mouths, look towards the stage, and have a good time!

Had I been around and about town in the later seventies and early eighties I would most likely have been wearing leather pants instead of leather jackets, bracelets instead of tattoos, and a black or purple button up shirt instead of a wife beater. My hair would have been spectacular.

I may even make it out to Belvedere's this week. It has been too long since I sweated through my jeans. Too many goddamned hipsters there though.

Ben Kenny: "So what do you do?"

Douchebag Hipster Chick: "I'm an artist."

BK: "Uh huh... but how do you pay the rent and afford those laughable glasses?"

DHC: "Banquet waitress."

(BK stands silently. Drinks his High Life tall boy. Wants a flamethrower badly.)

END SCENE.

This show is cancelled while the entirety of ABC remains on the air. Proof that God is dead.


Beautiful weather today. Not really.

House drama continues. No mistakes on my part.

One of my favorite song quotes, especially because this is so purely pop. "And now you tell me that you're having my baby. I'll tell you that I'm happy if you want me to."


I think I'm going eat mashed potatoes for dinner. An entire box. Should be starchy, to say the least.

Been writing a lot lately. Feeling good about the new material.

Anal bleaching is the new obsession at work. We're a filthy lot. Seriously. I'm not much for it, but my coworkers take pictures of their bowel movements and text them to each other. It's mildly hilarious to see/hear people's reactions. I keep my poop private, although I'm still an occasional "proud papa" giving names to go along with descriptions. Ask me about "The Pentagon" sometime. I love my job.

I'm serious dude, it was just like that part in Wild Things!-BK

Where in London to find you.

Made me laugh.

Got a Ben Kenny? You're in Luck.

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Getting warmer. Have been sleeping naked in preparation for full time naked sleeping season, which is coming up soon.

Not a lot of sleep last night. Two hours. Pants/drawers would not have helped.

I found a bottle of green Tabasco sauce in on my shelf, and a copy of Se7en in my fridge. Go figure.

Oh shit. Company party in Las Vegas. Oh shit.

Big time moment of clarity at yesterday's show. It hit me onstage, during my set. I make people laugh. In doing so, I feel like I'm worth something, like I actually have something to offer to the world. As I've said before, it's not about being famous, or "making it." It's as simple as doing it. Any venue, any time, any audience. I never worry about money. I care much more, so much more, about exposure. I want hundreds, thousands, and millions of people to see me, and I want 80% of them to laugh, and to laugh from their fucking bellies. I never want to walk into a room and make everyone laugh. It's a sign of compromise, of weakness. I don't want to water down my material. I don't give a flying fuck if you're offended by my retard bit because you second cousin, "Special Jimbo" was born with a disability. I'm not making fun of him. I'm not singling him out. I make fun of society, and the inherent weaknesses we have as a group. 2 out of 10 may not be able to take it. Fuck them!

Great song. Makes me sniffle a little. Even if it's associated with Cruel Intentions.


Adam Duritz, lead singer of the Counting Crows, is an inspiration to ugly dudes everywhere. He makes me want to become a millionaire. The list of famous/hot chicks he's banged is impressive, even by "Bruce Willis" standards. His secret can't be in the hair. It just fucking can't be, because if it is, I'm fucked.

My work schedule this week is shit-fucked, but I'll be in Chicago this weekend.

What're you gonna do, strong-arm me?-BK

Make it or die.

300 dollar speeding ticket the other day. Constuction zone. 25 over. 4:15 AM. Fuck you Officer. Guess who needs to get more money from his parents so he can afford his house? (Me. It's me.)

Check me out Friday night somewhere's in Ambridge with Billy Elmer and his gang of motley comedy friends. I'm going to tell jokes about the disabled, but I'll wink right afterwards so that everyone will feel justified for laughing, but still be all awkward when that intellectually disabled guy aggressively buses your table at Wendy's. I am a genius.

Spent a considerable amount of time looking into getting my boobies removed last night. I saw a surgeon about it when I was 22, and she advised me to wait until I was 25. Well, I'm 25, and about 35 pounds lighter than I was when I was 22, and they haven't gone anywhere. They even seem bigger, because I have so much less weight around my midsection. Bench presses don't make them go away either. So next winter, I'm going to take on significant debt to have flesh cut, burned, and sucked from my body. Medical Leave of Absence here I come! More expensive than killing myself, but I'm slowly coming around to daily existence on this planet, and want to stay a bit longer. Maybe have sex with the lights on AND my shirt off too. Maybe even with another person in the room. Maybe.

Listened to Ozzy while looking at before and after pictures. Not Sabbath. Ozzy. He should've died around 1995 or so. That way, he wouldn't of had to be remembered as a total fucking joke.

Tonight and Saturday you should head to the Moose and check out some comedian chick. It's ten bucks, and the drinks are cheaper than anywhere else on the South Side, although it being the Moose, you may get herpes from any or all of the people in attendance. Don't go Friday though. You've gotta drive out to Ambridge and see me bring the funny with Elmer and friends!

(Hey comics, notice how I promoted shows I'm not on? Imagine the promotion Ben Kenny can bring to you if YOU FUCKING BOOK HIM! I know you're scared everyone will notice how much funnier than you I am, but fucking deal with it. Just joking. Or am I???)

When I am forty, I am going to be the most jaded comic of all time. I'm basically going to be a droopy shouldered fatter/drunker version of myself, but without the fire of my fleeting youth, and hopefully, if things go according to plan, the tits too.

And now, ways I respond in my head to typical comments about my comedy endeavors:

"You do comedy!? Man, I couldn't do that." - - - No shit. Half the comedians in this room can't do it either.

"You do comedy!? Where at?" - - - Where do you think you stupid fuck!?

"You do comedy!? How long have you been doing it?" - - - Long enough to have seriously considered quitting. Several times.

"You do comedy!? Say something funny./Tell me a joke!" - - - It's five dollars upfront. You wouldn't fix my garage door or lance this boil for free, would you? Same concept applies.

"You do comedy!? Who's your favorite comedian? I think Paul Rudd is hilarious!" - - - You're not smart enough to warrant exposure to my favorite comedians. It would be a disservice to them.

"Man, you're really funny." - - - Please hit me in a crosswalk while drunkenly piloting your Trailblazer, douchebag.

That last comment just irks the everlovin' shit out of me. It's so generic that it isn't worth saying. If you're going to complement and/or critique a performer, any kind of performer, you need to be more specific. It let's us know what to keep, why to keep it, and how to make it better.

Super pissed I didn't do my new abortion stuff last night. It's cool though, as abortions never really go out of comedic vogue.

This is a long post.

Let's keep the Coldplay streak alive. This is one of the better songs off of their second to last album.

I have an abnormally large zit on the back of my neck. I think it may actually be a bite of some sort. The worst thing about it is that I can't watch pus fly out when I'm poking it. Major bummer.

Still one of the loudest bands I've ever seen. Perfect sound clarity though. Tool is a band you can't listen to 24/7. If you did, you risk losing the impact their music has. I'll catch flack for this, but they're better than Rush. If only slightly. Love how MJK performs from the back, strengthening the fact that the band is a unit.


I'm not going to get into this with you. You see, I'm smarter, more articulate, better educated. Most importantly, I'm right!-BK

At worst, I feel bad for a while.

What do you think of the Obama Administration asking the CEO of GM to resign? Is it fair to ask for regime change if you're financing the company, or is it overstepping a bit? Are car salesmen taking less of a commission? Are hourly workers(who make, on average, 93k a year) working overtime for straight time pay? I don't fucking think so. People throughout GM are not effective or capable of doing their jobs as well as they should be. Just because the public face is gone doesn't mean the body is rehabbed. They'll hang the next CEO out to dry too. We're going to pay the bill. With our tax dollars.

85 million views. Talk about reaching people with your art. I saw him from twenty-five feet away once. Thought I was watching four people. He's that good, and an absolute master of a rare and hard talent. I think his writing is hacky, but his ability more than covers that weakness. Polished to a high sheen. Perfect.


That being said, I'd still rather watch this any day of the week.


Pound for pound and dollar for dollar, Bill Hicks was the greatest comedic mind of all time. Absolutely no fear of, or pandering to, his audience. He did things other comedians, famous or non, only dream about doing.

Speaking of great comedic minds, I had an unusually good time at the Moose last night. Some friends from work came out to see myself and The Chuck throw down, and we both managed to have good sets. My new jokes worked way better than expected, but maybe they were just laughing at me because they know me. That's why a rarely broadcast what I do to friends and coworkers. I don't want people who like me to come to shows. I want it hard.

Goals for spring: Get work at the Improv and oral sex at a movie theater. Doesn't have to be while a movie is playing necessarily, or even in the theater. I'll settle for stationary road head in the parking lot. It's just time to scratch some shit of off the list.

As far as work at the Improv, I need to start playing to bigger audiences and networking. I could give a shit about the talent I'm working with. Some are good, few are great, and most are forgettable. As a comedian, maybe it's more apparent to me when people are "phoning in" a show, but playing big rooms is not a sure sign of talent, it's a sign of drive.

Dairy Queen is open!

The Gmail April Fool's was awesome. Awesome!

Go ahead and pray for me. Doesn't change a thing.-BK