Joe Rogan is a pretty capable guy and one thing I’ve learned about self actualized individuals is that they are usually overly optimistic about the rest of us. For example, Rogan is the kind of guy that would say something like, “Oh yeah! I absolutely think you can remove your own appendix.” Not necessarily because he wants to see you get hurt, but because that’s how optimistic he is… that’s how much faith he has in you… who knows? It just might work!
So a few years ago, when I told him I had just started doing stand up -he decided to put me on stage in front of nearly two thousand people.
Damn you, Rogan! Always upping the bar…
Rogan was busy masturbating in the shower when I arrived at his hotel, so The Voodoo Posse politely waited in the lobby until he was finished. We had just sat down and made ourselves comfortable when none other than Dana White (the UFC was also in town) came walking around the corner and comped some kid free UFC tickets. But before we could even say, “Can I borrow twenty-thousand bucks?” he was gone. He looked like a nice enough guy though, so I’m gonna go ahead and tell people I met him and he was pretty cool and even offered to take me out on the town, but I was busy.
Rogan finally busted a nut, came down to the lobby and immediately began begging to get a photo with me. He had to wait a few minutes while my fans and a couple of crackheads also had their pictures taken with me, but I promised to send Joe an autographed copy so he would feel special.
Look at him… he looks so happy hanging out with his idol. I think he knew that a mere “Cat in The Hat” t-shirt could not trump my “Meatloaf”… but a korean Cat in The Hat t-shirt… well played, Rogan… well played. Also, that wallet chain has a little alien head on it (like the logo on his site) and I wanted to steal it… not the wallet, just the wallet chain.
We went straight from the hotel to The Moore…
Joe told me Ari would do about twenty minutes, I would do about ten, Ari would come back out for another twenty and then he would finish the show… so basically, I was sandwiched between Ari and Rogan -which of course, was the best possible way to handle the situation, but at the same time… fuck! Going up as, “The Voodoo Chicken” to a packed house in between two seasoned pros is either ballsy, suicidal or just plain stupid… I still haven’t figured out which.
“You can’t fail!” Rogan said.
I almost bet him a dollar that I could.
I hadn’t even finished setting up my video camera by the sound booth before Ari was already on stage and just destroying the place… I ran back down the hall towards the back stage door knowing that I only had a few minutes before I had to go up.
Two security guards starting yelling and waving their arms. “You can’t go back there!” they shouted.
I had to think fast… I had to say something so conniving, so convoluted that it absolutely must be true… maybe I should tell them I’m Ari’s life partner and he’ll have a seizure if I don’t deliver his anal suppository on time… but instead I managed to blurt out, “I’m with Joe Rogan!” … because I’m clever and think fast on my feet. Ironically though, this seemed to stun these two hired monkeys. They looked at each other as if to say, “No one could be stupid enough to think that line would work! … so it must be true!” Either way, I didn’t stick around to hear the verdict. I just yanked open the door and walked right in while Dumb and Dumber attempted to decipher my wizard speak.
Note to stalkers: Just say you’re with Joe Rogan and keep on walking. You might have to go up and do a “tight ten”, but it’s a small price to pay for sharing a glass of wine with Joe Rogan in the romantic dim lighting of a backstage area.
I spent the next ten minutes or so pacing behind the curtain attempting to not notice that Ari was absolutely killing and of course, The Voodoo Chicken was supposed to somehow follow that.
Ari working his magic.
I rushed my first bit and completely forgot to do a callback that I had planned, but other than that I don’t think I really could have asked for a better set. At one point, I actually got a “Boo!” when I suggested I may be a Girl Scout killer. It’s one of those jokes where half the audience laughs and the other half looks at who is laughing with a look of disgust and condemnation on their faces. I find this amusing. That joke is for me -not you.
In a lot of ways Rogan was right. You can’t go wrong in front of a Rogan crowd. They all have a sense of humor, are ready to laugh and are probably high as fuck so… Of course, later Rogan and Ari were singing a different tune… “Oh you absolutely can do wrong… you can simply not be funny.” I’m glad they saved that little pep talk for after the show.
Yours truly suggesting Buddha had a brain tumor at The Moore.
Ari went back up for another twenty or so after I left the stage while Rogan and I had a glass of wine. That dude is all class and had nothing but kind words to say the whole time. Of course, this is just another Friday for these two, but I felt like the little sick kid who pukes up a lung and then gets the VIP treatment from the Make a Wish Foundation for a day or two right before dying a slow and agonizing death.
I don’t know what to say about Joe’s stand up that hasn’t already been said. The guy destroyed it non-stop from start to finish. If you ever have the opportunity to see Rogan live -consider it mandatory. The comedy is fresh, original and unlike most stand-up, it is thought provoking well beyond the gimmicky bits that a lot of comics resort to.
Joe Rogan making heads explode with the power of his mind.
One thing that sucks about downtown Seattle is that most restaurants close around 11:00PM. So basically, when you want a late dinner -you just look for the nearest OPEN sign and walk in. That’s how you decide where you are eating and that’s how Joe, Ari, Misses Voodoo Chicken and myself all ended up at some “Argentinian Steak House” across the street from The Moore.
Rogan and Ari ordered some obscene pile of meat that they brought out over burning coals with wooden plates and sticks for forks while the rest of us ate like civilized human beings with pinkies extended and napkins tucked firmly in place… and then… shortly after our meal… Misses Voodoo Chicken spotted it… a mouse… a vicious, savage beast with blood red eyes and fangs like a tiger scurrying across the headboard of our booth. A giant of his kind -perhaps the size of a large domestic house cat, which let out a mighty roar as it leaped from the booth ledge and sailed through the air towards the jugular vein of Misses Voodoo Chicken. Joe shot to his feet with the reflexes of a frightened gazelle while Misses Voodoo let out a blood curdling scream and clung to Rogan’s thigh like a wounded panda cub clinging for dear life to the trunk of a mighty oak.
I’m pretty sure she touched his wang.
Normally, I must fight men for honor when their wang comes into contact with Misses Voodoo Chicken, but Rogan was dropping favors like Fitty drops Benjamins at the club, so I guess he is allowed to touch the Misses with his penis this one time… one time. But next time -there will be consequences, Mr. Rogan. There will be consequences.
Our waiter offered us a bottle of wine for the trouble of being infected with rabies and body lice after dining at their fine establishment, but it was late and we were all ready to go home… and shower… thoroughly. That’s when Rogan paid it forward… rather than insisting we be comped -he comped them! “You wanna see a UFC fight?” he asked our waiter who had spent the entire evening attempting to refrain from kissing Joe Rogan… and that’s how I wound up sitting next to an Argentinian mob boss who had some shady connections in the restaurant business at UFC Fight Night.
Once again, Rogan gave us third row seats on the floor… I’m starting to think maybe Rogan is a little miserly with these tickets because I couldn’t help but notice that Bruce Buffer was a full twenty feet closer to the octagon than I was… what the fuck, Rogan?
Ari was already there when we arrived and I gotta tell ya, that’s one lanky jew who just does not look like he belongs in a sea of roided out douchebags in muscle shirts… I guess it wasn’t helping that he had on a bright red “Garfield” t-shirt… seriously… I am not making that up. The dude wears a Garfield t-shirt to a UFC fight. I’m surprised he didn’t get his ass kicked just out of principle.
I sit down next to Ari and he says, “Do you wanna breath strip?”
“What the fuck? Why is Ari offering me a breath strip? Does my breath stink that bad?” I had to admit, it was a distinct possibility… “Sure.”
He hands me one -which to my surprise, tasted like wet dog with a hint of cinnamon.
“There is no way this is helping,” I thought.
In fact, the breath strip had the curious effect of pretty much instantly giving me the wickedest dry mouth I have ever had in my life and making my breath smell like wet dog with a hint of cinnamon. I noticed he gave one to someone else too. For some reason, Ari is really concerned with the state of everyone’s breath.
Ari after realizing he was stuck sitting next to the Argentinian Mafia lookin’ dude from the restaurant.
Dan Hardy making eyes at my woman right before getting his ass beat like the no ground game having bitch that he is.
Ironically, one of the best moments of UFC FIght Night for me had nothing to do with the fights… instead it was when Ari’s breath strip finally crossed the blood-brain barrier and I finally understood why Ari’s breath always smells like wet dog with a hint of cinnamon… it was during an intermission and there was some… ambient noise emanating from the PA system… I could swear it was Bruce Lee saying something about “emptying your mind” and “being like water” … over and over again… like some sort of shamanic command from high above echoing and reverberating throughout the building up and down, blasting through the multi-million dollar sound system at Key Arena and pounding through the very core of my being… “be-like-water-be-like-water-be-like-water” and then… silence.
For a split second I thought I had imagined the whole thing… I realized for the last few minutes I had no idea where I was or what was going on around me as I emptied my mind and was like water with Bruce Lee behind a funky techno dance beat… “Fuck, I wonder if Ari is as high as I am?” I thought.
It was at that exact moment that I heard him suddenly shout, “YES!” as the shaman song ended.
I don’t know… I could be wrong. Someone may have asked him if he liked pussy and beer right before that song ended and I simply didn’t hear that part of the conversation, but I like to think Ari’s wet dog breath strips resulted in some sort of bizarre Bruce Lee vulcan mind meld if only for a moment when we were both able to empty our minds… like water… formless… crashing and flowing…
After the fights Rogan called me and said, “Let’s go get a bite to eat.”
“Where?” I asked.
“That same place we ate at last night.”
“You mean the place with the mouse…?”
Rogan sure loves his piles of sizzling meat, so Misses Voodoo Chicken and I met up with Rogan, Ari, Denny, muwt and muwt jr back at the rat house. At the end of our meal we were given a dessert plate on the house for the previous evening’s episode, but I still felt like it was too little too late. So if you’re ever at the Argentinian steak house across the street from The Moore, just tell them you saw a mouse and they will totally believe it and maybe even give you a piece of cake. I will not rest until there is free cake for all of Seattle.
Joe Rogan thank you, for giving me one incredible weekend that I will never forget… and Ari you are a comedy master/pimp. Even if your breath smells like wet dog with a hint of cinnamon.