Ever have that feeling that you've "been there" before? Of course, everyone has! It's called Déjà vu! But have you ever experienced Deja Too? You've been there twice, but still couldn't block it out? Picture it, you are way out of your element. And by that, I mean you're out of town and at the local bar. You don't know anybody, and all you want to do is drink! You do your best to yell your drink order to the bartender, meanwhile maintaining your fake smile to all the strangers walking past, looking at you. All you are trying to do is FIT (the fuck) IN! But, you realize that you're outnumbered. You can probably finish this beer and get the hell out of "awkward bar moment #427," unscathed. In your head, it's down to you and that semi-warm Bud Lite you've been clinging to while the local drunk chews on your ear for twenty minutes.

You boldly walk away from a conversation that strikes you at first as creepy. Oddly familiar, perhaps. You in fact choose to just leave. There's no doubt in your mind. You are hoping it is just a dream sequence, and then "Bam!" just as you're about to reach the door, something else that seems like it could have happened at that bar hits you again?! Man, oh man. Nobody likes to hear the news that, "Yeah, you were here about two years ago," followed by, "And guess, what? We saw you the first time you came here five years ago!"

God, I love to sleep!  My wife is convinced that I was born in a den of polar bears, but I disagree.  I am not overly hairy and I don’t really have an affinity for Coca Cola.  I just love to sleep, and most days until twelve noon.  I work during night time hours, so it’s a necessity.  But man, there are those days when I will stay in bed past the point of hibernation.  The scientist in you will doubt the validity in that statement by adding, “In order to achieve true hibernation, one’s body temperature must be severely lowered to a near comatose state, thus causing the heart rate to slow beyond normal living conditions.”  And to you the Doubting Thomas I would say, “Aha!  But I sleep with the AC turned down to its lowest setting!”   Sure, it’s an expensive habit in Texas during the summer, but man is it worth spending twelve hours in the fetal position, all wrapped up like a cocoon!

Evidently, my whole family (with the exception of my perfectly punctual sister) has evolved from bats, squirrels, marsupials and the like.  I was on the phone with my oldest and dearest friend Mark the other day, and he brought back a funny memory. During our elementary and middle school years we lived mere blocks from each other, and my parents’ house was on his way to school so naturally he’d stop by to pick me up so we could walk to school together.  Mark recalled how difficult a task that sometimes was ever since the first day he decided to stop by.

TEN DAYS IN ASIA - DAY 3 - MFOHG (PT. 2 )

Good day, Quirkee readers!   It's time for another installment of the adventures of a comic on a week and a half tour, entertaining U.S. troops stationed in Japan and Korea.  Better known as "Ten Days In Asia", our first chapter has our protagonist (JR) at a ‘hell gig' on a tiny Naval Base in Chinhae, Korea.  From there, he and his comedy partner (Slade) travel to Osan, where they are met by Desmond, a U.S. Air Force Military Entertainment Coordinator (aka the story's antagonist).

OSAN, KOREA - EVENING

We are on our way to Osan Air Force Base, and our talent escort jams his foot down on the gas pedal of his pimped out KIA Sportage, as we head for the "Motherfucker Of Hell Gigs".  Ironically, we're running late because apparently Desmond's brand new $10 Korean Rolex knockoff can't keep correct time.   We approach the main gate and step inside for further inquiry.

For two months, I looked forward to playing in Denver, and finally that day had come.  I was scheduled to fly from Austin Bergstrom to Houston Hobby, and connect with another flight to Denver International.  Over the years, I've learned to minimize check in times and prevent stalls at security.  I only wish the lady in front of me had done the same, because seriously - how many times were they going to tell her that every piece of jewelry she had on was going to set off the metal detector?  Finally, she made it through, and it was my turn.  Now again, being an old pro at this, I was positive that I had the routine down to a tee.  I took my laptop out of its case and put it in the plastic tub, I took my shoes off, I removed all metal objects from my pockets and put everything into another tub.  I waved ‘bye-bye' to them and said, "See you on the other side!"  The TSA agent asked where I was going, and I replied, "Denver, eventually."  She said, "Mm-hm.  You and everybody else today.  Have a good flight, sir," and then asked me what was in the case shaped like a guitar.  I said, "A guitar."

I need a raise - not because I want more money, but because I want to work less.  As a self-employed comedian, that goal is somewhat obtainable.  To put it quite simply, all my life, I've wanted to do absolutely nothing.  Now that I have this job down to forty-five minutes per night I'm getting closer to my goal.  Most people would balk at the idea of getting up on stage and telling jokes to a roomful of strangers, but when they learn about the comic's work schedule, some of these fools actually dare to attend an open mic night or two.  It's the ones who show up for a third time that are in serious jeopardy of throwing away their lives at a chance for stardom.

Records are meant to be broken. Just last month, a guy in Southern Chicago broke the record for eating the most hot dogs in an hour. I don't know if this is true, and it probably didn't happen at all. It just seems every weekend a contest is held to see who can shove more wieners down their throat than the last guy. Who will be crowned the king of gluttons? These kinds of records belong to Ripley's, and should not even be made a public event, in my opinion.

Other records are more legit. Take for example, all the swimming records being shattered at the Beijing Water Cube by Michael Phelps and Team USA. "I believe that boy is part fish," my wife commented after Phelps won his 9th Gold Medal. I added, "He's like the Shaquille O'Neal of the swimming world. He's 6 feet 7 inches tall, for Pete's sake! By the time he jumps in, he's halfway to the other side of the pool. That's like throwing a shark into a living room aquarium!"

To Whom It May Concern:

Happy Independence Day from Guantanamo Bay! Tonight, the folks in charge of pyrotechnics get to strut their stuff! I am here with three other comics, and as of our third and final show last night, our work is done. Word has it that according to the big brass (commanding officers) our stand up shows were such a success that the C.O. of GTMO, Captain Mark Leary has invited us on a rare tour of Camp X-Ray. Not to sound corny, but not many people can say, "Independence Day, Guantanamo Bay, Camp X-Ray." I think I will someday write a song.

As a treat, the event coordinator loans us a van for the entire trip. We come and go as we please and take turns driving each other to our shows or to run errands and whatnot. Today, Scotty K drives us to the detainee camp. He snaps one last picture of a sign that says, "All Cameras And Video Equipment Will Be Confiscated Beyond This Point." Nice one, Scotty! We are cleared at the gate, and are led to a bus where we meet up with the rest of the tour group.

It's early Thursday morning, July 3rd and I am wide awake. It's day three here in Cuba. I'm staying in what are known as Visitors Quarters, or VQ. I am the only one up so far, I'm pretty sure. I know my co-resident is crashed on the couch downstairs because I can hear him snore through two walls. The other two comics are probably still asleep, too. Yes, I'm sure they are all tucked in after staying up late with members of the Atlanta rock band, "State Of Man." The band is also on tour with us here in Guantanamo Bay, and judging from the post-show party we had at their condo last night, I'd bet they're still sleeping too. I partied right along with everyone, so why am I up so early?