In short, “Go fuck yourself.”

Originally this was directed to one person who was blowing up facebook talking shit, totally unprovoked. I’ve since removed the references to that one specific talentless, hacky, derivative, delusional moron to reinforce the reason this kind of thing is so frustrating: this happens all the time.

Clueless, entitled twats are everywhere.. and they don’t understand why everybody doesn’t just hand them a stack of money and a development deal. They aren’t self aware enough to realize that they’re a dime a dozen, doing nothing unique or original or even noteworthy.

I literally met this guy once at a show and apparently he walked away expecting me to run a publicity campaign for him. For free. For his shitty act which was a terribly un-funny rip off of a SNL character from 15 years ago. He thought I was going to run home and get to work researching what the hell it is he does and then stop everything I’m working on to go out of my way to promote him? I’m not on your staff, jackass.

This happens to me a lot. Ten years ago, I inherited NashvilleStandUp.com from another comic who was moving on & I’ve tried to use it to build up and promote the local scene. It’s something I did because there were a lot of really talented people creating incredibly funny stuff and I felt lucky to be a part of it.

Of course, there’s always whiners and complainers. I’m not doing enough, I’m doing too much, I play favorites, I’m elitist.. 100% of the time, these people are the ones who choose to spend their time bitching about what other people are (or aren’t) doing instead of doing something productive themselves. Instead of writing comedy, they spend their days telling people that “this scene is too clicky.”

If THAT’s what your conversation is about then shut the fuck up. Be funny or fuck off.

If you want me to promote your shit, first you have to give me something to promote.. (and it has to be WORTH promoting!).. and and you have to make it easy for me to promote. If all I have to do is cut and paste your press release, chances are way better that I’ll do it.

And if I don’t? It’s probably for one (or more) of the following reasons:
1 – You’re not funny.
2 – You’re a dick.
3 – Your project (whatever it is) sucks.
4 – I’m busy working on MY projects (or projects that PAY $$$).
5 – It got lost in the shuffle (TONS of people send me stuff, and there just isn’t time to look at it all).
6 – I haven’t gotten to it yet.
7 – I forgot.

I hate stupid drama, but I bring this up because I want to make sure everybody understands something:

NOBODY owes you a god damn thing. I *choose* to promote shit I think is funny (and a lot of shit that I think is fucking mediocre at best) because I want to. If someone you barely fucking know don’t drop everything on their schedule to do something for free for you, it’s probably because that’s not how the world works.

Anybody who thinks they deserve this or that just because they exist.. just because they showed up.. just because they want it.. is a fucking idiot and doesn’t deserve shit.

However, if you’re doing something cool/unique/funny/interesting/whatever and want some help promoting it, give me a yell. I’d love to be involved. Just make it easy for me to help you:
1 – Learn how to write a press release. Then do that.
2 – Get some professional photography done.
3 – Get good looking and sounding audio and video clips made.
4 – Make promo kits. Then put that shit into my hands or inbox. (Also, put it online! There’s this thing called the internet, use it.)
5 – Follow up. Remind me, but don’t pester my ass.
6 – Be a professional.
7 – Be nice.
8 – Maybe do something for ME. When was the last time you promoted one of MY shows out of the goodness of your heart? Have you ever bought me a beer? How often do you talk to me when you DON’T want something from me?
9 – Hell, do something for YOURSELF. If you don’t have enough sense to do the things I’ve listed above, what makes you think I’m going to do something for you?

This isn’t a new idea or unique to me, this is how the fucking world works. I’m not a dick because I didn’t pick up the pieces of your open micer existence and build a 360 promotion deal and 50-city theater tour for you.

I’m sick of the idea that if I don’t do a complete stranger a favor by promoting his terrible, shitty act – I’m somehow wronging him. That, right out of the gate, I owe this goof something. That I should devalue myself, my brands, and the actual, WORKING comedians I associate with to promote some fuck-nut’s half-assed amateur bullshit.

I’m not a “gatekeeper” for comedy – I built a website 10 years ago to promote the local scene. If you don’t like what I do, fucking make your own website, you idiot. NashvilleStandUp isn’t a public utility that everybody has some birthright to utilize.

If you are pissed that I haven’t done FREE publicity for you.. keep in mind that this is one of the things I do for a living. YOU ARE NOT MY CLIENT. GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Of course, the jackass is me. This is a video clip I previously put on the YouTubes but I just put it up on the FunnyOrDie the other day, so I thought I’d re-whore it.

It’s a mostly true story recorded May 18, 2009, at Zanies in Nashville, TN during Mary Mack‘s cd release show. I did a rambly 35 minute set of stories that I (mostly) had never told on stage before & this was probably my favorite clip from that:

[funnyordie 0d5cd01b6d]

In the video I said it happened in February, but it was actually January 13th, as evidenced by my twit (twat?) on Twitter.

The end of that story is the big writer’s embellishment – I didn’t string it up in the back yard and field dress it while the neighbors watched in horror. I wish I had. I thought I could find a guy to come cut it up that night, but no-can-do. I ended up going back out on the road for a few weeks.. salivating every time I thought about it’s sweet, FREE, organic goodness. Next thing you know, it’s been a month or two and the thing is still frozen solid.

My Lovely Wifera & her friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Any time I tried to tell them how to live their lives (and apparently I do that a lot), they’d say, “OH like I’m going to listen to you, YOU’VE GOT A DEER IN YOUR GARAGE.” Maddening. I had to put an end to the jibber-jabber. I was home for a while so I borrowed an electric saw from my dad & thought I’d go ahead and thaw Bambi out and see what I could do with him.

Turns out, a frozen buck is incredibly difficult to get out of a chest freezer – especially if you’re as weak and lazy as I am – plus it was too heavy for one person to lift as a fresh kill. My Lovely Wifera Laura was no help to me.. she absolutely refused to take part at all. I gets no support! No support, I tell ya! Even if I did have her help, there’s no way it would have come out of there.. I had to thaw it first.

I cut the power to the freezer the morning of May 30th and figured it would thaw over the course of the day & I’d cut it up that night. Guess what? It takes about five days for a frozen deer to thaw out. FIVE days. Five days of waiting and worrying. Five days of “I told you so”s. Five days of “hey Chad, I saw a squirrel on the side of the road yesterday.. want me to run by and see if it’s still there?” Five days of “WTF am I doing with my life? I’ve got a college degree, for shit’s sake.”

By June 4th, it was finally pliable. I tied a rope to its antlers, ran it thru a pulley hanging from the ceiling of our garage, and tied it to the bumper of My Lovely Wifera’s truck. I inched it forward and pulled the deer up out of the freezer and let it hang over a 55 gallon trash can. No, I’m not white trash at all.. I’m endearingly resourceful, despite my complete lack of funds, class and common sense.

I used a steak knife to slice it from its balls to its throat, hoping the guts would more or less neatly dump out. It looked easy in the YouTube video I watched.. but I guess rednecks are way better at this kinda thing than jackass comedians are. I had a few complications. The guts of MY deer were still solid ice. It was a pain in the ass to get ‘em.. but with frozen fingers, I was able to pull it all out. Unfortunately, the impact of the truck had broken the rib cage and ruptured the guts pretty badly.. so the surrounding meat wasn’t edible. Oh well, plenty of salvageable stuff left.

I used the saw to cut the forearms (or whatever you call deer legs – drumsticks?) off at the joints and started skinning it. The meat looked pretty good.. the thing just generally smelled game-y. If any deer happen to be reading this, you guys should think about showering every once in a while. Maybe if you took a dip in the creek you’d be able to score more does when you’re out strutting around the glen, waiting to dart out into traffic.

My brother Kirk assured me this entire process would take around 45 minutes, but I think he underestimated my gross incompetence. Somewhere around 3-ish a.m. I was getting sleepy, but visions of venison stew and jerky and burgers and steaks and sausage kept me going. As I pulled the hide off the nub of one of the elbows.. maggots shot out.

MAGGOTS!

“That’s it, I’m done.” I thought. I tried to make it work, but that was a quitting point if I’ve ever seen one. The hide had been ruptured at the elbow, the ribcage and on the head. I guess a fly found it’s way to lay some eggs in the elbow at some point? Realistically, I probably could have used 70% of the thing’s meat, but even I have limits. I started having doubts when I saw how the ribcage looked.. but when I saw mf’in maggots I was able to accept defeat and call it a wash. When it comes to cleaning out the fridge and eating questionable stuff, I’m a human garbage disposal.. but there’s no way I could have eaten any part of this thing without that image of little wiggly larvae shooting out of the elbow coming back to haunt me. I’m ready to vomit now, and it’s been months.

I lowered the deer into the trash can and loaded it up into the back of Laura’s truck. I washed up and hauled the corpse off to a wooded spot down the road where I could dump it. I came back home, and hosed off the trash can and felt like Dexter cleaning up the garage.. except my inner monologue wasn’t unnervingly adorable psychotic rationalization – it was my wife’s friends telling me how bison-shit crazy I am.

Lesson learned! Roadkill is ONLY acceptable if it’s fresh & you field dress it IMMEDIATELY. Just don’t leave it laying around too long. I’m sure you already knew that.. some of us watched Bear Grylls eat rotting Camel ass on Man vs. Wild and thought, “I could do that.” The rest of you have common sense. I’ll admit when I’m wrong, dammit. I guess I’m less of a Hunter.. more of a Gatherer.

Dr. Joel Bamford of Duluth, MN has a revolutionary break thru product that I just can’t stop talking about.

For years I suffered from dry, cracked skin. I’ve grown accustomed to molting my damaged epidermis annually, and along with it shedding any hope of one day not looking freakishly insane. Thanks to Dr. Bamford’s No Soap, I’ve changed my skin and changed my life! I still look crazy, but at least I have healthy skin.

From SoapAlternatives.com:

Over the years major breakthroughs have improved the mildness of soaps, so that in the year 2000 products like Dove, Lever 2000 and Syndet bar can claim to be the mildest of soaps.

Even the mildest soaps made earlier cause mild to severe rashes, particularly in the winter months anywhere north of Miami, Florida. Only the naturally pure, smooth, block of NO SOAP™, first produced by Thomas Edwin Bamford, Sr., MD for his suffering patients back in 1866, can protect you from real soap damage.

Tom had a general practice which he carried out in his home office at 418 North Delaware Street, Syracuse, New York, North America. An orphan himself, he could not afford much soap in England where he was born and, later, in Wales where is father worked in the mines. He continued growing up in the tenements of New York City. After his mother died, he and his brother had to go to Remsen, New York, as a farm hand. The supportive Welch community there must have recognized his potential and helped him complete his formal education.

Though the air could be rough, wet and cold there, it was not until he began practice in upstate New York that he saw patients who, every winter, developed painfully dry, cracking skin. Over time he recognized the importance of avoiding too much soap, then the harsh soaps (Ivory is still fine for those who live in Florida), then the milder soaps (Cashmere Bouquet). He then had the sudden insight, NO SOAP™ would be best way to promote healthy skin.

This novelty product was quick to clear the damaged skin of his General Practice patients in Syracuse, New York, where he had in home office at 418 North Delaware Street. He also served as the Medical Director of a large psychiatric hospital, where it is likely NO SOAP™ was also a blessing to patients.

Thus far four generations of North American Drs Bamford have promoted this skin saving alternative to traditional, lye based, defatting skin products (any soap, body wash or shampoo).

More information about this incredible product and instructions for obtaining your own bar of NO SOAP™ is available at SoapAlternatives.com. Honestly, no home should be without at least one bar of NO SOAP™, but I’d recommend getting three or four, just in case. Don’t forget, they make great stocking stuffers! My sincere gratitude goes out to Maria Bamford for the referral.

Everybody knows that the best way to stumble upon new, fresh, up-and-coming talent is by watching prime time network tv. It is the proving grounds. The trenches. The trial-by-fire, do-or-die, additional-hyphenated-cliche, one and only shot at the Big Time. The World tunes in together to watch these bold gladiators of the stage battle for our collective hearts.

Some foolish performers toil away at open mics and local showcases.. then go on the road, honing their skills for years.. gradually working their way up the ranks as they develop and mature and refine their acts.. but how stupid is all that noise? Developing material? Seasoning as a performer? Honing your craft? What a crock of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Margarine! Get you a wacky costume, find a hook and get your lazy rear out to the cattle call auditions, dippy!

That’s what happened to me. I took my wacky keister down to the America’s Last Talent Standing auditions and the fine folks at NBC immediately took to my “balding yet somehow extremely hairy, lazy, overweight, white, smart ass” character. It was unique. It was unprecedented. It was exactly what they were looking for. I did my thing and they made me A Star. Wham-bam, thank you ‘merica! BOOYAA! America’s Favorite Comedian Of All Time ^TM can has yr cheezburger!

I’ve been riding that glorious wave of support and love and free stuff for years. I gotta say, it’s been an incredible journey. Thanks to all my fans, you know? Without you, I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) do this. That is straight from the heart, bitches. You know that.

With all of this said, I have an announcement to make. I’m putting my clever “Chad Riden” character on hold for a while. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE playing that guy. He’s so cute and adorable and funny and relate-able.. such an “everyman” character. I think that’s what made him so universally loved – the fact that deep down, there’s a little “Chad Riden” in all of us, you know? (and hey, if there’s NOT, there CAN BE after the show! Youknowatimsayin ladies? This guy knows what I’m mocking about.)

I never thought I’d see the day, but the time has come to pack up the “Chad” costume and put that era of my career behind me for now. I’ve got something new I want to share with the world and I really need to devote all of my synergies into this full heartedly.

Introducing Granny McSassy-Pants! My new character is a sassy Southern granny who speaks her mind! She don’t take no junk from nobody! AND (this is the best part) she’s got herself something of a potty mouth! I’ve got the next quarter totally booked up, but please use the contact form to book Granny McSassy-Pants for your tv show or movie or county fair and we might be able to cancel something to make time for it.

Thanks again to all the Chad Riden Fans out there, I hope you continue to follow me as I break new ground in this exciting, revolutionary adventure.

The following is a long story about how Doug Stanhope indirectly kept me out of jail and/or a speeding ticket back in June 2005.

It’s about 2am-ish and I’m doing 85 or so on I-24 trying to get back to Nashville after a night at the Punchline in Atlanta. Fellow comics Billy Wayne Davis and Craig Smith had bought 40oz beers in the ATL, but they were fast asleep by now.. and I was coming up on Manchester, TN. I should have remembered that the damn Bonnaroo kids would bring out extra cops.. but I’ve had cruise control set and I’m just clickin’ along.

Blue lights. BW and Craig wake up as I pull over and they hide their empties. Cigarettes are fired up and BW scrambles for my registration as I fish out my license.

“Step out of the car please.”

I recognize the state trooper as one who pulled me over a few years ago in the same area. I had told him I was a comic who had just left Zanies and was on my way to Chattanooga.. and he let me go with a warning saying, “Mr. Riden, I don’t want to end up as one of your punchlines, so I’m goint to let you go.. just keep it under 80.. ok?”

This time, he asks me who’s been drinking.

“All of us. We’re stand-up comics.. we did a show at the Punchline in Atlanta tonight and we’re on our way home to Nashville. I had a couple beers before my set.. but that was like 8 o’clock. I haven’t drank since 9pm.”

He asked if we had any drugs.. that he’d been pulling people over all day confiscating all kinds of shit from Bonnaroo goofs. “No,” I said, “we’re just three professionals on our way home from a gig.”

He got BW out of the car and asked him pretty much the same thing.. also grilled him about what he was doing as he pulled us over. He had seen BW reach down and stuff.

“You’re not hiding a beer under the seat are you? If I look down there, what will I find?” He would have found a nearly empty 40oz and probably a few other empty cans and bottles and who knows what else. I don’t clean cars out.. I just walk away from the wreckage and find a new one when necessary. BW says he was putting his shoes on as we pulled over and as he says that he puts his hands in his pocket. The cop flips.

“Do you want me to shoot you? Get your hand out of that pocket!”

BW explains he never gets pulled over and he’s nervous.

“Well, don’t do that! Damn.”

While this is going on, I see that Craig is hiding something in the back of the Jeep. I move in between that image and the camera which I assume is mounted in the cop car. BW gets back in the car after a few minutes. The trooper comes back to me.

“Mr. Riden, do you want to give your money to the state of Tennessee?”

“No.”

“Cause I’ll take your money. If you don’t want to do that, I’d suggest slowing the hell down. I’m going to let you go with a friendly warning from the state highway patrol.. I’m not trying to be a dick..”

“You’re NOT being a dick, you’re being really cool.”

“Well, I’m letting you go because you guys are comics and I’ve been listening to Doug Stanhope on Raw Dog Radio.”

“Holy shit, you’re listening to Stanhope? We were just listening to his cd!”

So, now the trooper drops his puffed up chest stance and is loose.

“Yeah, he’s crackin’ me up. Have a good night and slow it down.”

“OK, thanks.”

I get in the car and fire it up. I pull the headlights knob and I pull it right out of the dashboard.. the headlights do not come on. I tried putting it back in and twisting it around… fiddled with it for three or four minutes. It’d been giving me trouble lately anyway.. but this hadn’t happened before. I can’t just drive off away from a State Trooper with no lights on.. I’m frantically trying to get it to work. I gave up and walked back to tell the cop what I’d done. I walked to the right side of his car and he had the window rolled down.

“Uh, I pulled the headlights switch out of the dashboard. I can’t get my lights on.”

He laughed his ass off. “Damn, boy! What else are you gonna do tonight?”

He got out and came up to look at it. He fiddled with it but no dice. He looked for a screwdriver but didn’t have one. He called his trooper buddies and the TDOT road-side assistance vehicles and asked if they had tools.

We all got out of the car and were standing around talking about comedy and stuff while we waited for the TDOT trucks.

“You would have been much better off if I hadn’t pulled you over.”

“Yeah, well.. I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

We bullshitted with them for a while. Craig even tried to sell some of his artwork to the trooper. Craig made some joke about patchouli and the trooper was like, “yeah, I’ve been confiscating it all day.. I’ve got a whole trunk FULL of it!” He thought patchouli was slang for pot.. we all died. Then I’m thinking, “just how cool IS this cop? I want to dip into that trunk of his..”

The TDOT guy tried to take apart my dash and find the switch, but couldn’t get to it. We decide to wait for daylight before continuing.. but we were ass deep in the middle of Bonnarooistan.. and by daylight traffic would be fucked and we’d be stuck in the middle of it. The Trooper offers us an escort 10 miles down the road to a truck stop where we’ll be past the traffic.

We load up in the Jeep and follow a TDOT truck for 10 miles down I-24 without the headlights working. The trooper follows for a while, but turned off. We passed a long line of Bonnaroo goofs, already lined up. At the truck stop, we bought some shit and watched the hippie parade for a while. Craig tried to start an impromptu comedy show in the parking lot. We ended up crashing in the Jeep until 5:30ish when the sun was up.

So, indirectly, Doug Stanhope kept me out of jail for open containers (and whatever else they may or may not have been able to find) or at least got me out of a speeding ticket.