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Hell Gig Dream (special appearance by Greg Fitzsimmons)


I just woke up from having a mildly epic and adorably ridiculous comedy dream and needed to write it down before I forget...


So, I'm working with Greg Fitzsimmons at a random comedy club somewhere in Florida.  The manager of the club picked us up from the hotel in a Hummer (perfect for combat situations and/or transporting wussy comedians).  To get to the club, we had to go over these long bridges, reminiscent of the anxiety-inducing bridge over Tampa Bay in that it's expansive, and there's just so much water around it, but this bridge also had other bridges crisscrossing it in every direction—just a series of roadways over ocean, like if M.C. Escher sketched bridges.


 I noticed that the sky was an ominous gray with rolling and churning clouds when suddenly the road below us shook!  The bridges began breaking apart, and we instantly felt tiny as the waters swelled around us!  We froze with fear, bracing ourselves as it seemed that we may be engulfed by the depths!   Tires were screeching, horns were blaring, and people were screaming!  We could see cars being swept into the waters as waves reached over the roads and other cars smashed into each other.  Desperate people fled from their cars and ran for their lives.


We stayed in the Hummer hoping that the manager's ridiculous vehicle choice would now protect us.  After all, this wasn't the time to think of saving the Earth with fuel efficient death machines, especially while Earth was trying to kill us!  The manager suddenly stepped on it.  He believed that he could drive through all of this, even though we could see that there was no longer road in front of us (somebody was trying to get his military car's money's worth).  We were now speeding through everything, and Greg and I could do nothing but hold on in fear.


Suddenly, a herd of giant bulls appeared and raged toward us!  WHY!?  It's a stupid dream, that's why.  I guess if you need a back story, perhaps a truck pulling a trailer of hormone-enhanced bulls was heading to the big rodeo in town that would undoubtedly hurt ticket sales for tonight's comedy show.  Their trailer obviously overturned and the bulls were running for their lives trampling everything in sight.  The manager thought he could just plow right through them.  Of course we couldn't, that'd be crazy!  Great, I thought, this is probably one of those comedy club managers who also thinks hecklers are fun for everyone.


So, of course he's wrong, and we careened off the bridge to be swallowed up with the other victims.  But wait!  Apparently the Hummer had vanished, and as we were flying to our deaths, the manager grabbed us, and for some reason the bridge was now high up from the water.  Dreams don't care about being spatially consistent!  He held us both by our hands as we dangled over the raging tides below.  He helped to pull us up, saving our lives!  This guy (whose name we never learned) might be the best comedy club manager ever . . . that means the club will fire him soon for something minor.


 The next thing you know, without any explanation, we were in the club.  The power was out, and there were lit candles everywhere.  We had blankets around us, and we were exhausted, out of breath, and just sat there tired, cold, wet, and still shuddering from the turmoil of seeing so much death.  Then we realized that we could hear chatter in the showroom.  Greg and I looked at each other in bewilderment and then got up to investigate.  We peeked through the curtain, and to our surprise there was an audience!  Greg must really be a draw in this town, especially since the rodeo was probably cancelled.

Man hiding behind curtains

As we peered out at the crowd, Greg said, "We're doing the show."




"Look at this," he continued, "people came out.  And I just realized something . . . That nothing up there," as he pointed to the stage, "nothing matters.  Nothing we say is wrong . . . not tonight, not ever.  It's just comedy."  It was beautiful and inspirational.  Its simplicity made so much sense to me.  It's like he revealed to me the ultimate secret behind the art of comedy.


Then the host went up.  He was terrible.  He was hacky, dumb, and he encouraged hecklers by trying to pander to the audience, "Where my single people at?"  The hecklers were incredibly stupid too.  It got to the point that they were SINGING their insults to him and pulling down their pants!  It was completely out of control.


We gazed at this scene in horror and disbelief.  It was probably the worst disaster since the earlier disaster.  Greg, without taking his stare off of the stage just said, "I changed my mind, it does matter."  The blanket around him fell to the floor, and with great focus and conviction, he headed for the stage.  He had to stop the damage that the host was doing to this precious audience.  He swiped the microphone (that magically worked during the power outage) right out of his hands, cutting off a terrible Bill Clinton impression.  Greg immediately took control and started killing.


I got bumped in my own crappy dream!  I woke up somewhere during his set, perhaps during the check spot.  What does it all mean?!  I think the lesson is that the old adage, "the show must go on," is really not true.  Rather, the show can go on.  Sometimes the show is more for the comedians than the audience.  I know this because after seeing devastation, I was sad that I didn't get to do a set.  Hopefully, I got to do one in the late show, because I really had a lot of good zingers about that Hummer.