 I'm back home and I'm really happy about it.
They say that comedy isn't pretty and it's not. They also say that if it's really good it should hurt and I do. I'm ugly and bruised up, so I must be doing something right.
Last week I was in Wichita, Kansas. The other two comedians are good friends of mine and we were excited to be spending the week of Thanksgiving drinking, carousing and (if there was any time left) performing some quality comedy.
The first night we were in town found us in a great mood. It had begun
to snow in Kansas and we don't see a lot of snow in south Texas, so
that put us in a giddy mood. We began to drink even more than we
normally would have and we became remarkably suggestible to even the
stupidest of ideas.
What I am about to tell you next is something that I am not proud
of. The other comedians in the story are similarly shamed by the events
of that evening and are not thrilled that I'm writing about it. I
apologize to them and respectfully withhold their names in my retelling
of the story. I also will tell you about this only if I have your most
solemn promise that you will not ever try anything as stupid as we did
on that crisp winter evening in Kansas.
There is a game played by many children who are at an age when
they want to do something incredibly dangerous to their bodies, yet
they are too young to access illicit drugs. It's called the Choking
Game. You may have heard of it. It pops up in the news every few months
when some 12 year-old moron winds up dead or in the hospital from doing
it.
I won't describe the details of how it's done but suffice to say
that it involves cutting off the blood flow to your brain until you
pass out. Pretty retarded, right? Yeah, turns out you can wind up that
way by doing it.
When you go out, it's only for a few seconds. But it feels like
you've been out for hours when you wake up and you're not sure where
you are or why there are two people that you don't recognize pointing
at you and giggling.
When it became my turn to go, again (!), one of the other guys
suggested that he could help me achieve a more complete state of
unconsciousness if he were to grab me from behind in a bear hug until I
passed out. I happily agreed and we proceeded with the incredibly
dangerous method of making sure my brain was deprived of oxygen.
As he grabbed me in the bear hug, he leaned back and squeezed as
hard as he could. That was the moment when we both heard a sickening
crack and I knew that I had broken one of my ribs. Unfortunately, I
couldn't tell anyone about it because I was already well on my way to
being unconscious.
My thought process went like this...
"Oh man, this is so painful! I can't believe how badly this hurts!
Good thing I won't be able to feel it in about three sec-"
It was weird. Kind of like having an anesthesiologist put a mask
over your face and right as the gas starts to take its effect... he
punches you in the crotch. You know it hurts but you know it'll be over
quickly.
I'm still suffering from the broken rib, but by sheer providence,
I am not suffering any brain damage (as far as I know). I couldn't
understand why I couldn't get a lick of sympathy from my wife when I
told her what happened. She is under the bizarre impression that I
deserve to have a broken rib for acting like "a fucking moron."
One of the great things about this job is that comedians are
forgiven for acting like children. We can still laugh at fart jokes and
enjoy cartoons and no one minds much because we'll probably wind up
with a comedy bit about it.
I have to wrap it up now. My mom's picking me up and taking me to
soccer practice. She's says if I'm good and do everything coach tells
me to do, we can go for pizza!
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Quirkee Voices 
