wikkidpissah
Footballguy
decided to go to my ol fanball avatar. if u ever find a moving Mandlebot set icon, though, i'd even pay to have that & would go to it as my avatar in a heartneat...
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***OFFICIAL WIKKIDPISSAH STORY THREAD*** (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter goldenchild
- Start date
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
Thumbidness, pt 2.
i get my 1st ride right away from a truckful of chicanos goin to vegas. now, this presents my 1st choice - get dropped off at reno or goes the extra 25 miles east to where the hwy turns S to vegas at a town called fernley but known to every roadbound freaque as Hitchhiker's Hell. boy's in a hurry cuz his beloved's ladyjunk is a-throbbin, so he goes the extra distance. wrong choice -
first off, as im hoppin out the truckbed, one of my messican bros tosses my pack&roll off for me. hits the ground hard & i hear a shatter of glass. shonuff, when i open my backpack, there's pb & honey everywhere. so, unless i want a glass cut or a handful of goo, no food, no clothes (ended up throwin it all away when i landed) - thank god the cigs were saved.
then, its almost noon, still sept & im in the middle of the stinkin desert. NINE freakin hours i stand in that heat with my thumb out b4 someone stops for me. tradition in Hitchhiker's Hell is to carve the date & time waited for a ride into the guardrails of the overpass. there was one inscription i still remember: "i wuz here august 2,3,4,5 & 6 of 1969". i carved my 9 amid the other part of my entry which i had pre-scratched b4 hoppin in to the car.
guy takes me a coupla hrs into winnemucca. now the I-80 was not yet finished thru nevada, so i was dropped off on state road. state cops didnt hassle hitchers on the thruways, but locals were just the opposite & shonuff, a unit stops me and cautions me that if they see my thumb stickin out they was haulin me in. i had spent 3 wks the previous winter in a town lockup outside Nawlins, gettin my ribs kicked in for lunch everyday, just for bein a hippie, so i decided to walk out of town.
five mile walk later, im out of their jurisdiction & i see a sign for a rest area up ahead. perfect - bathroom, maybe some kind of structure and maybe some light to check my backpack (it was pitch black that night). so, after a 20 hr day, i get there & roll my bag out on a pick-a-nick table. soon as the roadweary chases out of my head & im about to drop off......whoooooshwshwshwshwshwsh!!!! the sprinklers come on to water the public area. i'm soaked to the bone b4 i get out of its way. wave my sleepin bag around til its at least dry enough to lie on top of & then take it down this hill in the dark out of the reach of the sprinklers. spread it out, find its too cold by now that its better to be wet & wrapped so get back in my bag, thiiiiis close to noddin off and.......the ground starts to shake like oakland on a 7.1. i had pitched my bag three ft away from RR tracks i couldnt see in the dark. i roll away as quickly as i could and lay there terrified in my coccoon as a 150-car train rumbles past. when i stop shakin, at least i'm warm & i can see a sliver of sunlight on the horizon, so its time to start hounding the earlybird Winnebagos for a lift into salt lake city. end, day one -
i get my 1st ride right away from a truckful of chicanos goin to vegas. now, this presents my 1st choice - get dropped off at reno or goes the extra 25 miles east to where the hwy turns S to vegas at a town called fernley but known to every roadbound freaque as Hitchhiker's Hell. boy's in a hurry cuz his beloved's ladyjunk is a-throbbin, so he goes the extra distance. wrong choice -
first off, as im hoppin out the truckbed, one of my messican bros tosses my pack&roll off for me. hits the ground hard & i hear a shatter of glass. shonuff, when i open my backpack, there's pb & honey everywhere. so, unless i want a glass cut or a handful of goo, no food, no clothes (ended up throwin it all away when i landed) - thank god the cigs were saved.
then, its almost noon, still sept & im in the middle of the stinkin desert. NINE freakin hours i stand in that heat with my thumb out b4 someone stops for me. tradition in Hitchhiker's Hell is to carve the date & time waited for a ride into the guardrails of the overpass. there was one inscription i still remember: "i wuz here august 2,3,4,5 & 6 of 1969". i carved my 9 amid the other part of my entry which i had pre-scratched b4 hoppin in to the car.
guy takes me a coupla hrs into winnemucca. now the I-80 was not yet finished thru nevada, so i was dropped off on state road. state cops didnt hassle hitchers on the thruways, but locals were just the opposite & shonuff, a unit stops me and cautions me that if they see my thumb stickin out they was haulin me in. i had spent 3 wks the previous winter in a town lockup outside Nawlins, gettin my ribs kicked in for lunch everyday, just for bein a hippie, so i decided to walk out of town.
five mile walk later, im out of their jurisdiction & i see a sign for a rest area up ahead. perfect - bathroom, maybe some kind of structure and maybe some light to check my backpack (it was pitch black that night). so, after a 20 hr day, i get there & roll my bag out on a pick-a-nick table. soon as the roadweary chases out of my head & im about to drop off......whoooooshwshwshwshwshwsh!!!! the sprinklers come on to water the public area. i'm soaked to the bone b4 i get out of its way. wave my sleepin bag around til its at least dry enough to lie on top of & then take it down this hill in the dark out of the reach of the sprinklers. spread it out, find its too cold by now that its better to be wet & wrapped so get back in my bag, thiiiiis close to noddin off and.......the ground starts to shake like oakland on a 7.1. i had pitched my bag three ft away from RR tracks i couldnt see in the dark. i roll away as quickly as i could and lay there terrified in my coccoon as a 150-car train rumbles past. when i stop shakin, at least i'm warm & i can see a sliver of sunlight on the horizon, so its time to start hounding the earlybird Winnebagos for a lift into salt lake city. end, day one -
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
Thumbidness pt 3 - DAY TWO:
get a ride from the rest stop from a nice family pulling a trailer, but now i'm in that "what's it like to be a hippie?" zone with their questions & dont care cuz theyre even goin past SLC to park city, which pretty much gets me out of range from mormon cops in the I-15 corridor, so i aint noddin off and i do my counterculture shpiel for their amusement. no dennys tho. park city presents me with another choice, however. i am a wanted man (boy, really, i aint turned 17 yet) in wyoming for defending myself against a molester guy (whole nuther story) about a yr b4 and park city is fairly close to a state road that goes down to the I-70 thru colorado instead, but that's the kind of road u could be stuck days on and this is a pudendal emergency, so i decide to take my chances with the I-80 and wyoming.
my thumb aint out ten minutes (its about sunset) and what should pull over, but the answer to hippie prayer - a VW bus. awwww, YEEEEAAHHH!! longhaired company, stretch out in the back, maybe a little righteous doobage to kill the roadtweaks with. turns out, guy's going back to school at Colorado State, which puts me only out of the car for pitstops until it delivers me safely into a state whose APB list i'm not on. goooood decision.
we have a pleasant chat for a while and it gets to the point where im comfortable askin him if he's got some herb we could burn b4 i catch some zzzzzzz. baaaad decision. SCREEEECH - he pulls to the side of the hwy (which almost tips the bus over), shakes his finger at me and tells me that the demon weed is the way of sin, and the Lord, Jesus Christ, has delivered me unto him for to hear his witness & be saved. all thru the night, he throws leviticus's & ephesians & jeremiads and stops the bus each time i do not deliver unto him my utmost attention. when we reached cheyenne and sunrise still found me a heathen, he decided to give up & not take me the rest of the way to ft collins.
so, i'm an hr either way to colorado or nebraska, so i decide to keep heading east. normally i would have slept (48 hrs by now) here, but i was a fugitive, so decided to at least get thru cheyenne's "rush" hour b4 pitchin my bag. about 45 mins later, i hear a horrific squeal of brakes & tire about 200 yds past me. more on that in part three -
get a ride from the rest stop from a nice family pulling a trailer, but now i'm in that "what's it like to be a hippie?" zone with their questions & dont care cuz theyre even goin past SLC to park city, which pretty much gets me out of range from mormon cops in the I-15 corridor, so i aint noddin off and i do my counterculture shpiel for their amusement. no dennys tho. park city presents me with another choice, however. i am a wanted man (boy, really, i aint turned 17 yet) in wyoming for defending myself against a molester guy (whole nuther story) about a yr b4 and park city is fairly close to a state road that goes down to the I-70 thru colorado instead, but that's the kind of road u could be stuck days on and this is a pudendal emergency, so i decide to take my chances with the I-80 and wyoming.
my thumb aint out ten minutes (its about sunset) and what should pull over, but the answer to hippie prayer - a VW bus. awwww, YEEEEAAHHH!! longhaired company, stretch out in the back, maybe a little righteous doobage to kill the roadtweaks with. turns out, guy's going back to school at Colorado State, which puts me only out of the car for pitstops until it delivers me safely into a state whose APB list i'm not on. goooood decision.
we have a pleasant chat for a while and it gets to the point where im comfortable askin him if he's got some herb we could burn b4 i catch some zzzzzzz. baaaad decision. SCREEEECH - he pulls to the side of the hwy (which almost tips the bus over), shakes his finger at me and tells me that the demon weed is the way of sin, and the Lord, Jesus Christ, has delivered me unto him for to hear his witness & be saved. all thru the night, he throws leviticus's & ephesians & jeremiads and stops the bus each time i do not deliver unto him my utmost attention. when we reached cheyenne and sunrise still found me a heathen, he decided to give up & not take me the rest of the way to ft collins.
so, i'm an hr either way to colorado or nebraska, so i decide to keep heading east. normally i would have slept (48 hrs by now) here, but i was a fugitive, so decided to at least get thru cheyenne's "rush" hour b4 pitchin my bag. about 45 mins later, i hear a horrific squeal of brakes & tire about 200 yds past me. more on that in part three -
goldenchild
Footballguy
Keep 'em comin'
Flying V
Footballguy
Don't say that! That's what chased GG away before.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
Thumbidness, conclusion: DAYS 3 & 4.
i've hitchhiked a quarter of a million miles by my estimation and there's just a few things you get to know about the art: where the fuzz & dead roads are most likely to be; avoid the south (if ur hair was long), texas esp., & the Catholic countries of europe at all costs; the only way a bigrig would stop for a hippie is if he passes the swerve test (they would jack the wheel just a smidge to send the trailer fanning within inches/feet of the hitcher & laugh went they went flyin & maybe pick up those who stood in; and, finally - dont even look a caddy or lincoln thru, cuz they aint stoppin for you.
anyways, i hear this loud, long squeal & look back and there's this big, gold-colored car stopped diagonally between the right & breakdowns lanes. the backup light comes on & and the thing comes swervin backwards thru rush hour traffic in the overadjusting way that only comes from a novice driver. i wave my hands wildly to signal them to pull over and i'd come to them but they just kinda stopped. i could see by now that the car was a brand new continental and, when i got to it i saw two teenage girls (14 & 15, they told me) in the front seat.
"got any money?" they asked.
i showed em my 77 cents.
"we need it for gas." what the hell - if my case dough got me outta wyoming well, so be it.
they drove to the last cheyenne exit, on my advice, b4 pulling off to go to the gas station. they couldnt drive a lick. at the top of the exit, they saw another hitcher, using the onramp to hitch (which, in those days, usually meant they had warrants), and started to drive down there, which i stopped them from doin cuz they would have had to back up on an exit ramp to get the gas. the hitcher got the idea and headed toward the car but, when i saw who it was, i shuddered. it was a guy i had teamed up with (most folks teamed rather than competed if they found themselves thumbin outta the same spot) on a coupla hitches and hoped i would never see again. a guy i knew as Numbers.
i aint tellin any Numbers stories here or ever, cuz im gettin the creeps thinkin about him now, almost 40 yrs later. he could be a real nice guy, even taught me the prison click (a little switch in your head that guys in stir listen for to make time go dead), but im pretty sure he was a serial killer and had the feelin he had wanted to rape & kill me in the North Platte hobo camp (last big one in the country) one night a while back, but waited to see if id give it up free first & i took off. tall, gaunt fella, never wasted a word, a johnny depp stare & he wore a duster-length olive-drab trenchcoat with like 50 pockets in it, each of which held either a weapon or a fragment of a joint ("ooh, a number", he'd say every time he found pot in his coat, which is why i gave him the name).
well i ended up tellin Numbers stories, but that's it. anyway, the girls asked him for $ & he reached into one of those pockets & proffered two bucks and asked where they were goin. council bluffs, iowa (across the missouri from omaha), they replied. that was an all-day ride, and they were cute & slutty (and fairly rapable, i feared), so Numbers got in & handed them the $2. they drove to the gas station, entered the pump bay @ about 30 mph, screeched to a halt, smashin hell outta the self-service sign.
they told us that they were from boulder & one of their stepfathers was mean & nasty & grabby, so one sneaked over to the other's house in the middle of the night, they stole stepdad's brand new lincoln and some cash (not enough, apparently) and, driving for the 1st time, decided to take it several hundred miles to visit real dad or summin. so here i was, a fugitive from justice, riding in a stolen Continental with two slabs o jailbait & a serial killer. combine that with the pixies on the dashboard that 2 days without food or rest were causing me to see and you try & sleep.
they didnt gimme much of an opportunity anyway, cuz they crossed the rest of wyoming & western nebraska swerving from median to breakdown. this presented me another choice - take the wheel and be up for hard time for car theft (as well as Mann act & delinquency of a minor) or take my chances on their burgeoning driving skills. i decided upon the later.
that is, until we hit Lincoln in our Lincoln. turns out it was saturday afternoon & lincoln is home to university of nebraska & university of nebraska is football country & the stadium where football is celebrated by the university of nebraska is right off the I-80 & we had the good fortune to hit Lincoln in our Lincoln just as football fans were pouring out of the stadium after a victory over UCLA. the girls were certain to get in an accident which would either kill us or send us to jail for sure, so i took the wheel the rest of the way to Council Bluffs.
when the girls dropped us off, Numbers said he was goin on to des moines, so we teamed one last time. he went with the salesman who picked us up into the city (and prolly sliced him open & snacked on his viscera) and i was free of him out on the interstate. by this time, hunger was as much an issue as sleep & i didnt have a penny for food, plus i was less than a day away by now and, also, Ol Black Joe from Huckleberry Finn appeared to me in a vision about this time & tol' me he'd take me the rest of the way on his barge if i could just make it to the Mississipp', so i went for it. i made it there b4 day 4 was done & arrived at Hope College sicker than my gf and collapsed for 3 wks with consumption. til next time (my SNL audition) -
i've hitchhiked a quarter of a million miles by my estimation and there's just a few things you get to know about the art: where the fuzz & dead roads are most likely to be; avoid the south (if ur hair was long), texas esp., & the Catholic countries of europe at all costs; the only way a bigrig would stop for a hippie is if he passes the swerve test (they would jack the wheel just a smidge to send the trailer fanning within inches/feet of the hitcher & laugh went they went flyin & maybe pick up those who stood in; and, finally - dont even look a caddy or lincoln thru, cuz they aint stoppin for you.
anyways, i hear this loud, long squeal & look back and there's this big, gold-colored car stopped diagonally between the right & breakdowns lanes. the backup light comes on & and the thing comes swervin backwards thru rush hour traffic in the overadjusting way that only comes from a novice driver. i wave my hands wildly to signal them to pull over and i'd come to them but they just kinda stopped. i could see by now that the car was a brand new continental and, when i got to it i saw two teenage girls (14 & 15, they told me) in the front seat.
"got any money?" they asked.
i showed em my 77 cents.
"we need it for gas." what the hell - if my case dough got me outta wyoming well, so be it.
they drove to the last cheyenne exit, on my advice, b4 pulling off to go to the gas station. they couldnt drive a lick. at the top of the exit, they saw another hitcher, using the onramp to hitch (which, in those days, usually meant they had warrants), and started to drive down there, which i stopped them from doin cuz they would have had to back up on an exit ramp to get the gas. the hitcher got the idea and headed toward the car but, when i saw who it was, i shuddered. it was a guy i had teamed up with (most folks teamed rather than competed if they found themselves thumbin outta the same spot) on a coupla hitches and hoped i would never see again. a guy i knew as Numbers.
i aint tellin any Numbers stories here or ever, cuz im gettin the creeps thinkin about him now, almost 40 yrs later. he could be a real nice guy, even taught me the prison click (a little switch in your head that guys in stir listen for to make time go dead), but im pretty sure he was a serial killer and had the feelin he had wanted to rape & kill me in the North Platte hobo camp (last big one in the country) one night a while back, but waited to see if id give it up free first & i took off. tall, gaunt fella, never wasted a word, a johnny depp stare & he wore a duster-length olive-drab trenchcoat with like 50 pockets in it, each of which held either a weapon or a fragment of a joint ("ooh, a number", he'd say every time he found pot in his coat, which is why i gave him the name).
well i ended up tellin Numbers stories, but that's it. anyway, the girls asked him for $ & he reached into one of those pockets & proffered two bucks and asked where they were goin. council bluffs, iowa (across the missouri from omaha), they replied. that was an all-day ride, and they were cute & slutty (and fairly rapable, i feared), so Numbers got in & handed them the $2. they drove to the gas station, entered the pump bay @ about 30 mph, screeched to a halt, smashin hell outta the self-service sign.
they told us that they were from boulder & one of their stepfathers was mean & nasty & grabby, so one sneaked over to the other's house in the middle of the night, they stole stepdad's brand new lincoln and some cash (not enough, apparently) and, driving for the 1st time, decided to take it several hundred miles to visit real dad or summin. so here i was, a fugitive from justice, riding in a stolen Continental with two slabs o jailbait & a serial killer. combine that with the pixies on the dashboard that 2 days without food or rest were causing me to see and you try & sleep.
they didnt gimme much of an opportunity anyway, cuz they crossed the rest of wyoming & western nebraska swerving from median to breakdown. this presented me another choice - take the wheel and be up for hard time for car theft (as well as Mann act & delinquency of a minor) or take my chances on their burgeoning driving skills. i decided upon the later.
that is, until we hit Lincoln in our Lincoln. turns out it was saturday afternoon & lincoln is home to university of nebraska & university of nebraska is football country & the stadium where football is celebrated by the university of nebraska is right off the I-80 & we had the good fortune to hit Lincoln in our Lincoln just as football fans were pouring out of the stadium after a victory over UCLA. the girls were certain to get in an accident which would either kill us or send us to jail for sure, so i took the wheel the rest of the way to Council Bluffs.
when the girls dropped us off, Numbers said he was goin on to des moines, so we teamed one last time. he went with the salesman who picked us up into the city (and prolly sliced him open & snacked on his viscera) and i was free of him out on the interstate. by this time, hunger was as much an issue as sleep & i didnt have a penny for food, plus i was less than a day away by now and, also, Ol Black Joe from Huckleberry Finn appeared to me in a vision about this time & tol' me he'd take me the rest of the way on his barge if i could just make it to the Mississipp', so i went for it. i made it there b4 day 4 was done & arrived at Hope College sicker than my gf and collapsed for 3 wks with consumption. til next time (my SNL audition) -
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
does it really matter if it's true?! just so happens......it is.
Mr. Pickles
Footballguy
You had TB?
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
walkin pneumonia - big deal. that's what you got outta this thread? and thought you'd take the time to pick that nit? how thoughtful!! i like u too....
Mr. Pickles
Footballguy
eh?anyway, i'm surprised you picked up "numbers" if you were sure he was a serial killer.
Das Boot
Footballguy
It'd be a lot cooler if it was.
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El Floppo
Footballguy
x infinity.Read the first few pages, got pulled away to something, and never made it back in. Liked where I got to, IIRC. Still have it on the laptop and think about diving back into it every now and then.Goober, the selfish little #####, keeps me from it.
Frostillicus
Footballguy
dad?
Gadabout
Footballguy
Wikkid, you've been one o'mah heroes for quite some time.-kulprit
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wikkidpissah
Footballguy
nice to see u around kt. you wrote some very nice things about me after the Revolucion @ furball & i appreciate that. had no idea u looked at my stuff that way. still in nawlins?
McJose
Footballguy
GG's stories were terrible.
Flying V
Footballguy
Yeah, but that's part of what made them so entertaining. The guy was convinced nobody could out-write him. He said so himself.
Flying V
Footballguy
Not one darn bit. Very entertaining. Thanks and keep up the good work.
JAA
Footballguy
I love your stories, please keep telling. However, Nebraska didnt play UCLA in 1971
Gadabout
Footballguy
Nah, ended up fleeing the bayou after Katrina. Traveled a bunch, made out with hot chicks, and then ended up here in NYC. And I kinda flipped my lip recently. That was weird.
Jaysus
Good times!
WampusCat43
Footballguy
They lost at home to UCLA in '72, but who cares? I'm nearly that old and can't remember these kind of details for ****. Carry on.mon said:
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
dont even know how i got in my head that it was ucla. and they definitely did not lose cuz they was goin nutz that day. and Numbers might have actually had a pocket which didnt hold a knife or a roach. hmmmm. i'll waterboard myself so the entire truth comes out next time.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
in the Borough, eh? hear that's the happenin place. last time i lived in NYC, brooklyn was a place u hurried thru on the way to somewheres else. got a cousin in Greenpoint i'm visiting next month, so i'll find out what all the fuss is about. shame that nawlins is lost to so many. good to see u around again, kt...Gadabout said:
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JAA
Footballguy
home game in 71 was oregon and I believe they destroyed them. They won the mNC that season IIRC
Gadabout
Footballguy
Greenpoint's kinda happenin' if you're into perogies and that kinda stuff. Nah, aside from the abundancy of pollocks, you'll notice that meek have in fact inherited the earth.
Subletted a place out there for a month or so when I first came to the city. Lived with three scandanavian artists that very euro-sexy. One of the chicks would always have people over for her art. Apparently they'd all get buttass nekkit and form some sort of human ball. Lemme see if I can find the website. It was kinda cool staying out there.
Nekkitness
Subletted a place out there for a month or so when I first came to the city. Lived with three scandanavian artists that very euro-sexy. One of the chicks would always have people over for her art. Apparently they'd all get buttass nekkit and form some sort of human ball. Lemme see if I can find the website. It was kinda cool staying out there.
Nekkitness
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wikkidpissah
Footballguy
JAA
Footballguy
i am unable to locate this. I wont say how many hours I looked thoughi'm just taking a short break from my work now, but this afternoon, i'll give the SNL story a try.did u ever search for my eight-women-at-once story? i couldnt find it, but i told it pretty well at the time & would like to be spared having to repeat it.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
if no one finds it, i'll try to recount it sometime this wkend. i'll be away from a comp most of august, but i should be able to get 3 or 4 good ones in b4 i go.
for the guy that wanted meth stories - got a bunch, but i'm presently writing a memoir of my pro-gambling/drugging/dealing-with-an-extraordinary-wife-dying-of-cancer years (kinda does for poker what "boogie nights" did for porn) and dont want to tell them for free. i got one that's a doozy, though, that i need practice cleaning up, so, if i can get it modworthy here, i know it will work in the book, so i'll give that a try next wk.
for the guy that wanted meth stories - got a bunch, but i'm presently writing a memoir of my pro-gambling/drugging/dealing-with-an-extraordinary-wife-dying-of-cancer years (kinda does for poker what "boogie nights" did for porn) and dont want to tell them for free. i got one that's a doozy, though, that i need practice cleaning up, so, if i can get it modworthy here, i know it will work in the book, so i'll give that a try next wk.
JAA
Footballguy
id be happy to get a PM of the memoires to review
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
AUDITION, pt 1.
most of my life, i've had a problem with stagefright. it didn't start out that way. i saw the great Zero Mostel on Broadway when i was like 8yo and, from the moment i saw that fat, ugly man become the most glamorous person alive and balance an audience on his pinky, i KNEW i wanted to do summin lik'at.
i joined the first school production i could and me, Kim Relick (a little girl with ona them freakatron voices u see on contest shows now) and Mickey Oguri (next to Lowell George, the most talented person & one of the most tragic figures i ever knew - got a scholarship to Julliard, but the burdens of being a gay Japanese actor in the early 70s overwhelmed him & he killed himself @ 23yo. shout up, mick!) were so good that the local amateur theater built some productions around us.
in one of those shows i went-up on my lines, for some reason. Mickey magically turned the scene into just a conversation between us and, with his eyes fixed on mine, led me thru without doing much harm to the show.big sigh of relief but, the next time i went on stage, my ears started burning, i sweat like a pig & thought i was gonna have a heart attack. end of performing for wikkid. a bunch of comics i wrote for yrs later talked me into trying standup one time, but i lost 10 lbs in 20 mins & is the only time ive been onstage since (ive even had two plays produced and would not do curtain calls for either and, now, i start to shake when my # comes up at the deli).
again, i'm gonna serialize these, cuz this is brownout season here & i dont wanna hafta rewrite stuff if i lose my modem connection. right back with pt 2...
most of my life, i've had a problem with stagefright. it didn't start out that way. i saw the great Zero Mostel on Broadway when i was like 8yo and, from the moment i saw that fat, ugly man become the most glamorous person alive and balance an audience on his pinky, i KNEW i wanted to do summin lik'at.
i joined the first school production i could and me, Kim Relick (a little girl with ona them freakatron voices u see on contest shows now) and Mickey Oguri (next to Lowell George, the most talented person & one of the most tragic figures i ever knew - got a scholarship to Julliard, but the burdens of being a gay Japanese actor in the early 70s overwhelmed him & he killed himself @ 23yo. shout up, mick!) were so good that the local amateur theater built some productions around us.
in one of those shows i went-up on my lines, for some reason. Mickey magically turned the scene into just a conversation between us and, with his eyes fixed on mine, led me thru without doing much harm to the show.big sigh of relief but, the next time i went on stage, my ears started burning, i sweat like a pig & thought i was gonna have a heart attack. end of performing for wikkid. a bunch of comics i wrote for yrs later talked me into trying standup one time, but i lost 10 lbs in 20 mins & is the only time ive been onstage since (ive even had two plays produced and would not do curtain calls for either and, now, i start to shake when my # comes up at the deli).
again, i'm gonna serialize these, cuz this is brownout season here & i dont wanna hafta rewrite stuff if i lose my modem connection. right back with pt 2...
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L5UT1ger
Footballguy
Ill go with the obvious ->
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Insoxicated
Post them hereMost of the folks (that you'd care about getting opinions from anyway) from FBG over there and you won't have to deal with ANY mods... anything goes.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
AUDITION 2.0
Had no such prolims on radio, though. as i recounted in my Presidential Penis story, i turned helpin my gf produce radio commericals for her clients into some announcing, and then reporting work for her station. but what i do best is some funny and, each time i taped one of those loud, awful commercials for Bob Schwab's Dodge or The Blinds Man or whatever, i'd tape a satirical 2nd take of them for grins.
well, some of the DJs heard my alternative commercials and asked me if i would do some blackouts (sketches radio plays out of commercials in the hopes that it will keep u from pressin the button) for them, and i did. they werent half bad, neither. now this all occured during the 1st season of Saturday Night Live & every fool who ever wrote a joke wanted to be on that show & i was no exception. i turned the blackouts into an audition tape which one of the WCOZ DJ's ended up playing on the air without telling me. we got a lot of reaction, though, which was pretty cool.
anyways, a radio syndicator heard it and offered to buy a halfhour scripted show from me if i could put one together. and the show Zero Hour was born. if you're around 50 & went to an eastern college, u might have heard it at 11pm on your college station on the nights SNL was on the air. he gave it to a bunch of colleges as a promotion but only got a half dozen real stations (buffalo, albany, hartford i remember, as well as boston). my crowning achievement was that Belushi & one of his writers reportedly heard my sketch of The Gary Gilmore Christmas Special (if youre too young to remember Gilmore, it would take too long to 'splain) drivin up the Hudson and stole it for the next show. at any rate, SNL had a sketch of same very close to my version the wk after it was on Zero Hour. i was thrrrrrilled (intellectual property werent worth squat, in those days, in case youre wondering), it all was a blast & got me an agent, but after a year or so, it wasnt makin any dough & the pressure got too great & my head exploded & i got an ulcer. when a hippie chick i knew invited me out to her commune in NM and i saw that there was like a half dozen guys & about 40 gorgeous chix out there & the country was as beautiful as the girls, i decided to leave it all behind.
Had no such prolims on radio, though. as i recounted in my Presidential Penis story, i turned helpin my gf produce radio commericals for her clients into some announcing, and then reporting work for her station. but what i do best is some funny and, each time i taped one of those loud, awful commercials for Bob Schwab's Dodge or The Blinds Man or whatever, i'd tape a satirical 2nd take of them for grins.
well, some of the DJs heard my alternative commercials and asked me if i would do some blackouts (sketches radio plays out of commercials in the hopes that it will keep u from pressin the button) for them, and i did. they werent half bad, neither. now this all occured during the 1st season of Saturday Night Live & every fool who ever wrote a joke wanted to be on that show & i was no exception. i turned the blackouts into an audition tape which one of the WCOZ DJ's ended up playing on the air without telling me. we got a lot of reaction, though, which was pretty cool.
anyways, a radio syndicator heard it and offered to buy a halfhour scripted show from me if i could put one together. and the show Zero Hour was born. if you're around 50 & went to an eastern college, u might have heard it at 11pm on your college station on the nights SNL was on the air. he gave it to a bunch of colleges as a promotion but only got a half dozen real stations (buffalo, albany, hartford i remember, as well as boston). my crowning achievement was that Belushi & one of his writers reportedly heard my sketch of The Gary Gilmore Christmas Special (if youre too young to remember Gilmore, it would take too long to 'splain) drivin up the Hudson and stole it for the next show. at any rate, SNL had a sketch of same very close to my version the wk after it was on Zero Hour. i was thrrrrrilled (intellectual property werent worth squat, in those days, in case youre wondering), it all was a blast & got me an agent, but after a year or so, it wasnt makin any dough & the pressure got too great & my head exploded & i got an ulcer. when a hippie chick i knew invited me out to her commune in NM and i saw that there was like a half dozen guys & about 40 gorgeous chix out there & the country was as beautiful as the girls, i decided to leave it all behind.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
yeah, i thought about :e: for some of this, but i need to clean the stories up some for them to go in a serious work anyways, so this'll be good practice.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
AUDITION, pt 3.
anyways, i was in the hills soakin up the rays, the tang & other powders but 20-some episodes of Zero Hour provided much better material for an audition tape, so my agent put one together and started shopping it around. in the late 70s, both Westinghouse & RKO General made an attempt to resurrect the radio network system which fell apart after TV got popular in the 50s, so any scripted shows were gold to them so my agent (Serge) worked them like a whooah and it was great cuz the option $$ helped finance my partying & gave me a reason to go to Manhattan & take a meeting now & then.
nothing really came about (though RKO gave me a memo offer of 9K a show, which was monstrous dough back then, but it didnt work out) & i was havin too much fun anyways. fast fwd to the summer of 1980 - everybody who was anybody had quit SNL after the 79-80 season. NBC, in its infinite wisdom, promoted the highest ranking executive who didnt quit the show as the producer for the next season. this happened to be a woman named Jean Doumanian (uuuuuhuhuhh, i get the shakes just writing her name), who was an associate producer for the original show. the entirety of her responsibilities, however, was booking the host & musical guests and she had a knowledge of comedy approximate to my knowledge of Estonian folk dancing.
anyway, Serge had my tape & my two plays ("Oh, to Be in Casablanca" and "Dinner & Divorce") to work with and went to the right parties and got Ms. Doumanian and some of her people to look at my stuff & called & called & lunched & met & hounded & called some more until they agreed to see me. thing is, because the original SNL cast had two members (Garrett & Chevy) who'd been hired as writers, so they were asking even the writing applicants to do eight minutes of audition as their interview, in case there was that special nugget of talent in them which would make the show..
now, my agent hadn't told me of his attempts at Rockefeller Center. i had stopped dreaming about SNL long b4 cuz it was mostly a Lampoon (Harvard & National) & 2nd City club & Lorne Michaels wouldnt pay no attention at all to people from standup or radio or theater. so, when they agreed to see me, i was nailing girls in macrame dresses in the Jemez Mts, completely oblivious to Serge's machinations. now, he had both the most wonderful and terrible news imaginable for young wikkid - that he had an appt on the 17th floor of 30 Rock, but had to perform when he got there. how it went....in our next segment.
anyways, i was in the hills soakin up the rays, the tang & other powders but 20-some episodes of Zero Hour provided much better material for an audition tape, so my agent put one together and started shopping it around. in the late 70s, both Westinghouse & RKO General made an attempt to resurrect the radio network system which fell apart after TV got popular in the 50s, so any scripted shows were gold to them so my agent (Serge) worked them like a whooah and it was great cuz the option $$ helped finance my partying & gave me a reason to go to Manhattan & take a meeting now & then.
nothing really came about (though RKO gave me a memo offer of 9K a show, which was monstrous dough back then, but it didnt work out) & i was havin too much fun anyways. fast fwd to the summer of 1980 - everybody who was anybody had quit SNL after the 79-80 season. NBC, in its infinite wisdom, promoted the highest ranking executive who didnt quit the show as the producer for the next season. this happened to be a woman named Jean Doumanian (uuuuuhuhuhh, i get the shakes just writing her name), who was an associate producer for the original show. the entirety of her responsibilities, however, was booking the host & musical guests and she had a knowledge of comedy approximate to my knowledge of Estonian folk dancing.
anyway, Serge had my tape & my two plays ("Oh, to Be in Casablanca" and "Dinner & Divorce") to work with and went to the right parties and got Ms. Doumanian and some of her people to look at my stuff & called & called & lunched & met & hounded & called some more until they agreed to see me. thing is, because the original SNL cast had two members (Garrett & Chevy) who'd been hired as writers, so they were asking even the writing applicants to do eight minutes of audition as their interview, in case there was that special nugget of talent in them which would make the show..
now, my agent hadn't told me of his attempts at Rockefeller Center. i had stopped dreaming about SNL long b4 cuz it was mostly a Lampoon (Harvard & National) & 2nd City club & Lorne Michaels wouldnt pay no attention at all to people from standup or radio or theater. so, when they agreed to see me, i was nailing girls in macrame dresses in the Jemez Mts, completely oblivious to Serge's machinations. now, he had both the most wonderful and terrible news imaginable for young wikkid - that he had an appt on the 17th floor of 30 Rock, but had to perform when he got there. how it went....in our next segment.
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
AUDITION - conclusion.
now, thanks to the time the SNL staff were takin to join the old tradition of evacuating Manhattan in late July, early Aug, there were 3 wks between the time they agreed to see me and the audition itself. normally an agent would have got right on the horn & told his client to stop puttin magic together, but Serge knew that, with my stagefright, the 3 wks would have me frettin & fussin over havin to perform and overwriting it to make it stagefright-proof so much that i'd be a basket case when the time came & that i'd prolly snap, set my pants on fire, hump the water cooler & start licking Ms. Doumanian's face when the fire was out. he'd seen me write 18 of Zero Hour's 24 minutes the night b4 taping so many times that he knew the best way to go was tell me as late as possible.
so Serge called me & said i hadda fly out on so-and-so day for a meeting. he picks me up at the airport, drops me off at a mid-town hotel around dinnertime and tells me i gotta PERFORM 8 minutes on the 17th floor of 30 rock (executive offices of SNL) @ 2:00 the next afternoon. whoa! after i got my pulse under 200, i set about to writing 8 mins. now, i knew i was at an instant disadvantage, cuz SNL just didnt hire from raaaaaadio, so i immediately set about to try and turn that into an advantage.
i wrote a bit that they shouldnt hire me, cuz hiring someone from raaaaadio or community theater for the grrreat SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE would prolly cause the end of comedy as we know it. and.........what would the world be like without comedy? i could do pretty decent impressions of Groucho & Chico Marx, as well as Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis so i wrote versions of routines of theirs with the funny removed (y'know Chico's shtick without the italian accent, Groucho without sarcasm, and Jerry interrupting Dino by just saying "lady........lady..." very deadpan without the manic inflection).
i got there & one of the 1st people i saw was a PA from the ol show who i'd met at some parties. that made me more comfortable & he gave me some tips. i stepped into a room of a half dozen strangers and survived 8 mins of a World Without Comedy. take that, stagefright!
i dont remember much except Ms. Doumanian staring at me like i just shot her dog the entire time, but there was enough chucklage from the rest for me to wanna hang around for a few days when they said they'd call. we waited..waited...waited....reached the time that an agent hasta call or we'll never hear from them. Ms. D's secretary asks Serge to hold, then says that the Producer of Saturday Night Live was under the impression that Mr. Wikkid was not interested in working for them. whaaaa?!?!
he demands to speak to Ms. D., but he cant til the next day. his call gets thru this time and Ms. D explains that Mr. Wikkid told everyone in the audition that he didn't want us to hire him. For his next 8 mins, my agent tries to explain that it was part of the bit & when that doesnt work, fairly screams into the phone asking why the #### a guy would do 8 mins if he didnt want the job, etc etc.
for several yrs after, my agent kept a framed montage of sheets noting the calls he made to 30 Rock where he continued to try & convince Ms. D. that i would be a willing & able asset to her program on the walls of his office. except for helping a standup comic friend write a pilot for ABC in '82, i been outta showbiz ever since. Jean Doumanian lasted half a season as Producer of SNL (most notable for letting her staff hire Eddie Murphy but then refusing to let him advance past featured player) went on to produce some Woody Allen movies (no coincidence that it was right around the time Woody stopped being funny) & went on to run seminars on comedy production (where, from what i hear, she spent most of the time taking credit for Eddie Murphy's career - maybe that explains Norbit). i saw her for the first time in 28 yrs this spring on the Tony Awards broadcast as part of the production team for the Best Musical (i shuddered like Dorothy at a burning broom). bet that show's hilaaaaarious - wikkid say, check it.
now, thanks to the time the SNL staff were takin to join the old tradition of evacuating Manhattan in late July, early Aug, there were 3 wks between the time they agreed to see me and the audition itself. normally an agent would have got right on the horn & told his client to stop puttin magic together, but Serge knew that, with my stagefright, the 3 wks would have me frettin & fussin over havin to perform and overwriting it to make it stagefright-proof so much that i'd be a basket case when the time came & that i'd prolly snap, set my pants on fire, hump the water cooler & start licking Ms. Doumanian's face when the fire was out. he'd seen me write 18 of Zero Hour's 24 minutes the night b4 taping so many times that he knew the best way to go was tell me as late as possible.
so Serge called me & said i hadda fly out on so-and-so day for a meeting. he picks me up at the airport, drops me off at a mid-town hotel around dinnertime and tells me i gotta PERFORM 8 minutes on the 17th floor of 30 rock (executive offices of SNL) @ 2:00 the next afternoon. whoa! after i got my pulse under 200, i set about to writing 8 mins. now, i knew i was at an instant disadvantage, cuz SNL just didnt hire from raaaaaadio, so i immediately set about to try and turn that into an advantage.
i wrote a bit that they shouldnt hire me, cuz hiring someone from raaaaadio or community theater for the grrreat SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE would prolly cause the end of comedy as we know it. and.........what would the world be like without comedy? i could do pretty decent impressions of Groucho & Chico Marx, as well as Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis so i wrote versions of routines of theirs with the funny removed (y'know Chico's shtick without the italian accent, Groucho without sarcasm, and Jerry interrupting Dino by just saying "lady........lady..." very deadpan without the manic inflection).
i got there & one of the 1st people i saw was a PA from the ol show who i'd met at some parties. that made me more comfortable & he gave me some tips. i stepped into a room of a half dozen strangers and survived 8 mins of a World Without Comedy. take that, stagefright!
i dont remember much except Ms. Doumanian staring at me like i just shot her dog the entire time, but there was enough chucklage from the rest for me to wanna hang around for a few days when they said they'd call. we waited..waited...waited....reached the time that an agent hasta call or we'll never hear from them. Ms. D's secretary asks Serge to hold, then says that the Producer of Saturday Night Live was under the impression that Mr. Wikkid was not interested in working for them. whaaaa?!?!
he demands to speak to Ms. D., but he cant til the next day. his call gets thru this time and Ms. D explains that Mr. Wikkid told everyone in the audition that he didn't want us to hire him. For his next 8 mins, my agent tries to explain that it was part of the bit & when that doesnt work, fairly screams into the phone asking why the #### a guy would do 8 mins if he didnt want the job, etc etc.
for several yrs after, my agent kept a framed montage of sheets noting the calls he made to 30 Rock where he continued to try & convince Ms. D. that i would be a willing & able asset to her program on the walls of his office. except for helping a standup comic friend write a pilot for ABC in '82, i been outta showbiz ever since. Jean Doumanian lasted half a season as Producer of SNL (most notable for letting her staff hire Eddie Murphy but then refusing to let him advance past featured player) went on to produce some Woody Allen movies (no coincidence that it was right around the time Woody stopped being funny) & went on to run seminars on comedy production (where, from what i hear, she spent most of the time taking credit for Eddie Murphy's career - maybe that explains Norbit). i saw her for the first time in 28 yrs this spring on the Tony Awards broadcast as part of the production team for the Best Musical (i shuddered like Dorothy at a burning broom). bet that show's hilaaaaarious - wikkid say, check it.
Judge Smails
Footballguy
"but Emily Post says the proper etiquette for any serious cooter injury..."?
OMG
OMG
wikkidpissah
Footballguy
lessee - if ur in Mountaineer country, that would put the halfway point between us somewhere around Branson. dunno if they have an Outback there but, if not, we can get the buffet @ Boxcar Willie's & maybe catch the Yakov Smirnoff (the only storyteller better'n me) Show? I hear he rides offstage on horseback at the end the end of his set, then pauses the animal when only its butt is in front of the curtain, then the nag takes a dump on cue b4 passin offstage. now THAT'S entertainment!of course, if u can arrange for us to meet at the V of WVU, i'm buyin. what a country!!i'll try HOLIDAY GIRL (the meth story) tomorrow & INSUFFICIENT WRITHING (the eight-at-once story) on wednesday. that's it til the end of august, tho - takin some time off. maybe i'll make a new story while i'm gone.
Sammy Traveller
Footballguy
there's no Outback in Branson, but you can try the one in Springfield, MO.
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