Getting Personal

I've been watching a lot of comedy shows lately. I guess I've always watched a lot of comedy on TV, but now that I'm trying it out I've been taking a much closer look at delivery and material.

One thing I've found lately is I really like the comedians who draw on personal experiences for their material. So far, I haven't really done much of this*.

*I have made one joke that allegedly draws on personal experience. I say allegedly, because it's the one time so far where I have lied stretched the truth for the sake of a joke. 


The joke is about people giving advice to get a dog before you have kids. I say, "People keep telling us to get a dog because it's great practice for when you have babies. I disagree - putting a diaper on a Golden Retriever is impossible. And my wife's breasts are KILLING her from trying to breast feed." 


We don't actually have a dog, but I think the joke works better if I say we do. Generally people have laughed at this joke, except for my friends - who all look puzzled, then want to know after the show when we got a dog. 


I want to start trying to draw on my life more in my act, but I have to say - I don't feel like I'm working with a treasure trove of material. I suppose I've had amusing things happen to me, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I don't think I'll be starring in any Dos Equis commercials any time soon.

Lately I've been pressing the rewind button in my head to think back on funny memories that could translate to the stage. Maybe writing something down will help jog my memory. Here is one to get the ball rolling:

Whenever you see a TV family discuss sex, it's always extremely awkward. The parent will usually try to come up with some kind of metaphor or gesticulation to describe the act, because godforbid they actually say the word "sex" or mention specific parts of the human anatomy.

Well, not my family. Or rather, not my father. Oh it was awkward for us kids, but my father loved having frank discussions with us about sexual topics. Nothing made him happier than announcing at the dinner table something like, "So, your mom found a Playboy underneath your bed today." (Or, uhhh, something like that.)

The funny thing was, as we got older, they grew more and more intrusive into my sisters' sex lives and less and less in mine. They knew when both of my sisters lost their virginity (because of birth control medication, you perves), but they never asked me about mine.

In fact, the only reason my parents ever found out I was having sex is because I was an idiot and wasn't careful with my laundry.

One day I was sitting on the couch watching TV and my mom comes in and was like, "You need to be more careful when washing your shorts."

I thought she was talking about a dollar I had seen on the washing machine. She was, but she'd also found something else.

She said, "You need to be more careful when washing your shorts...I found a rubber."

I don't know what could have made that conversation less awkward, but I'm pretty sure the use of the word rubber helped the awkwardness reach terminal velocity.

Now, no one wants to talk about sex with their parents, but I've actually experienced something even more mindfucking than that - and that would be the time I had the same discussion...with my grandfather.

I was driving home with my grandfather after a Mississippi State basketball game one time in college, and my grandfather asked me if I thought that today's young adults were more sexually active than previous generations. Terrific.

"Yeah, probably," I told him.

"Does that bother you?" he asked.

"No, not really - I think people are just more comfortable now." I responded.

"Well, what if it were your sisters?" he wondered.

Sigh. "Well, if my sisters are happy, then that's all that matters to me."**

**Translation: My sisters are sluts Poppie.

At this point, the conversation wasn't uncomfortable enough, so I decided to take it up a notch. I turned the tables on him.

"What about your generation, Poppie?"

"Oh no, we courted a little, but we respected the women we dated." he said.

"So you waited until your wedding night, to you know, seal the deal with Nonnie?" I foolishly asked.

"Of course we did."

Landmine sidestepped. Let's call it a night. But no, I had to ask one last question...

"So you were a virgin on your wedding night?" I asked.

And his answer, he gave with no hesitance, as if it was the most natural thing in the world:

"Oh no, we went to the whore house for that." OF COURSE HE DID.

"Oh. Good." I said.

Then I turned the steering wheel into oncoming traffic.

Interesting what qualifies as normal across the generation gap...