PROOF there is no such thing as karma!

PROOF there is no such thing as karma!


Let the party begin. KARMA IS BULLSHIT!

And here’s how I know.



.days before the wedding, no one showed up at my house demanding I have a bachelor party, before renting out the top of a bar and forcing me to booze my face off and let a random stripper grind on my lap even though I don’t have an interest in any of those things, which is exactly what I did to a guy name Eric *Rusher in 2000.

.No one cuffed a cup to my hand, demanding I drink anything they put in it, until I was so drunk I could hardly remember whether they also made me do drugs, or made me lie down while gross strippers rubbed up on my chest and got their gross private parts WAAAAAAAAAAAY to close to my face, like I made my best friend *Nohan go through in 2006.

..No one got so drunk at my wedding they fell off a roof while playing with kids, like I did in 1999.

..No one ran around my wedding party with devil ears on, groping every woman in sight and drinking so much booze they succeeded in sleeping with someone who just so happened to be engaged, like I did in 2003.

..No one got so drunk they puked outside, like I did at my mom’s best friend’s wedding when I was 12.

.No one got in a drunkin fight like I think me and a bunch of my cousins did at my drunkin cousins wedding.

.No one was so drunk they started calling me by my hippie name while the entire wedding party was like, who the fuck is this best man, and why doesn’t he know Sean’s real name, like I did at my boy Merton’s wedding in front of like 70 people.

..No ex boyfriends of my wife to be showed up.

..No ex girlfriends of mine.

..No pissed off friends.

.No drama.

And on top of that, after all the horrible ways I’ve acted to women, I happened to meet a really beautiful, mellow, cool, accepting woman.


Robin Williams KILLED it.

Robin Williams KILLED it.


There’s two particular rules I keep in my stand-up philosophies, and the first is there’s no rules and the second is, break all the rules, and if there was any performer that could make sense of that stupidity it was Robin Williams.

Robin Williams in 1978


I really need to get a deeper feeling of the history of stand up, but from my perspective, Robin Williams, could very well be the Godfather of alternative comedy as we know it.

Who made people laugh by mumbling before Robin?

He was desperate for a laugh, like a junkie. Manic about laughter. Hungry. He would get his laughs at all costs.

To me, that’s a true comedian.


Comedians are addicted to making people laugh.

It’s my opinion as well, and I could be wrong here, but I believe that Robin Williams was the first guy to not only kill, but to destroy rooms.

He killed on an unseen level. On a unique level.

I personally cannot stand to hear the word kill in a stand-up comedy context.

Dude, Bill totally killed last night.”

Man, you killed it.”


I’ve never killed it. NEVER.

Because if you ever see a comedian truly kill it, you can’t say that word as much anymore.

That word should be reserved for the very very very few comedians who can literally cause people to almost die from lack of breath.

This type of comedy can only be seen live, in person, and it can only be experienced, in my opinion, on certain days, at certain clubs, by certain people.

Like, the time I saw Chris D’elia at the Laugh Factory and for 20 minutes I was wondering if I was literally gonna pee in my pants. I couldn’t figure out what made this guy so funny. Like, piss your pants funny. The crowd was in a frenzy, like a riot was going on. Knee slappin, wheezing, and all that.

Robin invented that style of destroying.

He was one of the innovators, if not the sole innovator, of high-energy, full-contact, blow-the-fucking-lid-off-the-room-comedy.

Real improv.

Watch some old Robin Williams and then tell me you can teach that shit to people?

Shame on anyone running those shitty improv classes. What an insult to true improvisers like Robin Williams.

Movies and television aside, Robin Williams is a legend.

He played an alien on TV because he was truly an alien.

His stand up. MY GOD. Out of this world!

If you talk to anyone who saw Robin Williams in a small room, like the Comedy Store, whether it was 1978 or 1988 or even 2008, the stories are all the same. THIS GUY WENT MENTAL. Dripping with sweat, squeezing the lemon, until there was a room full of lemonade. Not stopping until every single person in the room was neck-deep in lemonade, asking themselves,

Did this guy just make that much fucking lemonade from one fucking lemon?”


That’s what you should be thinking when a comic kills.

HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE? No human should be able to do this.

If you understand what a comic is doing, then he’s not killing. If there’s not layer upon layer upon layer to his performance. If there’s not nuances of art and sprinkles of theatrics and roller-coaster-like waves of stupidity and brilliance, mixed with the perfect amount of slapstick, he ain’t killin.

Nope. He’s having a good set. He’s a good writer. He’s a good performer.

But he’s not killing.

Not unless people are waving their arms, begging him to stop with, tear-filled eyes, crying in joyous pain.

And if he is killing like that, ask him who inspired him to those levels of comedy genius.


Robin Williams will be missed, but I smile knowing that Robin Williams brought more tears of joy and happiness than these few days of sorrowful tears could ever amount to.

Fly on, Robin Williams. Nanu Nanu.



I was on this abandoned building the other day, watching a crappy band play. It reminded me of why I fell in love with Berlin in the first place. It also reminded me why I’m leaving Berlin as well.

For the first time in what seems like years I was at a cool event, with only a handful of people, and no bar, and no line to get in, and no door man, and no corporate sponsor or brand, or magazine pretending not to be owned by a brand, and no list or shithead looking me up and down, and believe it or not, no idiots.

Not once did I have to hear, “where are you from?”


“Oh my God, isn’t Berlin so cool. I LOOOOOVE it.”

It was just a crappy band with shitty equipment on a crappy roof with a few friends.


But enough of this positivity, because I did see the impending doom of construction cranes from every angle on that rooftop.

It’s coming people. They’re building a better tomorrow in Berlin and by better I mean way more expensive.

Get in line, pay to use the toilet, and say hello to the beer bike.

None of that matters to my mission though, because to be honest, if I could do stand up every night and work on my own personal growth as an artist, I would stick it out and fight.

But alas, the output in this country is not enough for me.

A good friend of mine just got booked for one of the only paying English gigs in Berlin, at the Strictly Stand Up gig at The Quatsch Comedy Club.

He gets a paid, ten minute set, and best of all, he gets to gig with Terry Alderton!

The bad news is he has to wait until NOVEMBER to do that gig and also, none of you probably even know who Terry Alderton is.

He has to wait four months for one ten minute gig. And, of course, in the mean time, he could always perform at one of the many open mic type of shows that don’t pay people for performing, which coincidentally was almost the reason no one from Berlin was ever going to be booked at the Strictly Stand Up show in the beginning, but hey, let’s save that conversation for another time.

Of course, he could, like myselfme, set up his own show, and deal with those problems, like finding a venue, like doing all the promotion, like writing enough material for a full show, like people not wanting to pay for a show because there’s five shows a week that are free, like some people not wanting to see the same jokes, but new people being in the audience and obviously wanting to see your best stuff, and just the fact that doing a one hour show at the MOST once a month is very challenging, and so on and so forth.

Comedy is meant to be done every night, i. It’s like skateboarding, you have to be doing it, or you forget how to do it. I spend most of my one hour show remembering how to warm a crowd up and by then, OOOOOPS, show’s over. And while I believe performing at a show and not getting a paid spot is fine a lot of the times, the problem for a new scene is where to turn after that.

What does’s the future hold for the English comedy scene in Berlin?

What are the dreams of the new, up and coming comedians who perform in English?

What does the future hold for a half decent comedian in this country, especially one who refuses to perform in the native language?

I’ll tell you what the future holds for me in Germany.

Doodly squat.

Goodbye Berlin.

See you soon, whenever you visit LA.

Fuck ice coffee and exclusive sneakers, let’s build a school.

Fuck ice coffee and exclusive sneakers, let’s build a school.

Here’s a very basic thought, that I, as a white, middle class male am constantly thinking about.

Now, I know I’m not a genius, but to me, it seems basic, that unregulated, uncapped, free market capitalism needs to be more socially responsible.

How can a company like, let’s just say for the sake of argument, because I’m a skater, Red Bull, make over a billion dollars a year in sales and not once, EVER, feel the need or desire to chime in on the worlds lopsided economic, or political situations?

In my opinion, if some of these horrible conditions people fled from were fixed, perhaps we wouldn’t have a refugee problem?

I know “it’s complex and complicated” or whatever WAG THE DOG complex you’ll pull out, but seriously, why shouldn’t we at least TRY to do something to effect it now, and step by step, work towards a solution?

At the very least, can’t we pretend to care?

Red Bull spends millions on culture and extreme sports, claiming, I’m sure, to be ambassadors for great artists, and great art and music, and skateboarding and so on and so on, which, of course is wonderful.

But, do they REALLY feel that?

Does Red Bull seriously feel the need to bring these cultures to the world, in a truly revolutionary way, or is it yet another commercial disguise to sell their drink to anyone with three dollars in their pocket?

Couldn’t Red Bull be bringing these events to poor countries and along the way building bridges, schools and clean water systems as well as skateparks, bmx parks and mountain bike tracks for these people?

Is that so much more than the millions they’re already spending on this stuff in the first world?

Is it too much to ask?

Is it too much to ask that on the BILLION they make, they put aside a small percent for a selfless, helpful, YET STILL PROMOTIONAL type of event that could actually effect people?

The Red Bull School, or the Red Bull clean water well?

They won’t do it on their own. Let’s face it, they wouldn’t even do it for us in the first world if it wasn’t a chance to have their logo tattooed on our foreheads. We need to present these things and it starts at the top with the artists and skaters and riders for these companies.

Get serious about spreading culture. Get serious about bringing people joy.

Of course they won’t do it on their own either, because who would risk their own comfort for the joy of some poor souls in some shit hole 3rd world hell?

We’ve become soft and way too paid in skateboarding and even more comfortable  in our own lives. It makes me sick to see people discussing the best ice coffee in town when some people don’t even have clean water. Shame on you, you fuckin soft, exclusive sneaker buying bitches.

I’m nothing like you.

I, for one, am an ambassador for skateboarding, not as a sport, or as some fuckin fashion show, but as a revolutionary tool, to free kids minds from the pains of life and the struggles. Skateboarding saved me from potential suicide, or even worse, my slave labor life, by giving me something to focus on instead of my pimply little four eyed fat face that couldn’t even talk to girls. It taught me discipline, dedication. Triumph. Overcoming my fears. Showed me patience. Gave me a reason to try and introduced me to a tribe of people that to this day I’m still connected to regardless of age, color, sex, sexual preference, and especially regardless of class. I met Stevie Williams in 1989 and even though he was the ghettos of North Philadelphia and I was from the suburbs we still both cheered and found joy in the sights of a decent backside tailslide. Skateboarding, and all art can transcend the worldly problems and bring people into a common space, at the very least, for that particular moment in time.

Of course, it can also be a great tool to sell your shitty product.

Power to the people.

48 hours of annoying twats in Neukölln

48 hours of annoying twats in Neukölln

I guess I’m not really into art.

I know for a fact that I’m not into the 48 Hours Neukölln art festival and I guess I’m not into the 48 Hours Neukölln art festival because I don’t drink.

I mean, I’m sure there’s a lot of great art around, somewhere, but it’s hard to find surrounded by all these artists!

So many artists, so little art.

That should be the motto of this quote unquote art festival. I mean, sure, I passed a few empty store fronts with weird boxes, or crappy drawings hanging up, but most of the festival seemed to be hanging in front of the späti, drinking and doing some kind of revolutionary performance art entitled, “Fuck anyone who lives in this neighborhood over the age of 27.”

The best part about this art festival/streetdrinking party is the theme and mission statement.

Does this party need a theme? YES IT DOES, SIR! *Salutes, like a good soldier.

The theme is courage, OF COURSE, because we’re soldiers in this battle against the evils of society and clearly it takes huge balls to be an artist and to be a part of this art scene and to find the guts to order a Moscow Mule in a bar when you hardly speak the local language. These artists have the courage to fly halfway around the world, usually on a flight from Spain where they must pack all of their intense art supplies in one carryon bag that must fit in that goddamn little metal frame while everyone watches and scrutinizes and that pressure.

These brave, brave artists!

The mission statement is a real treat for anyone with the patience to read 600 words of the most pretentious selfserving cliché art bullshit I think I’ve ever had the misfortune of eyeing.

Imagine a group of artists standing in a circle, holding each other’s metaphoric genitals, and then imagine each of them slowly stroking each other’s sin parts until they cum a rushing river of hot sticky sex jizz all over a sheet of paper!

 There’s your mission statement.

Here’s one small splash of verbal stainage I found particularly hilarious.

“The festival is a joint initiative involving artists, spectators and other residents.”    

Well, unless that neighborhood is rented entirely to drunk twentysomething artist cunts, I don’t think I noticed one single resident. I did however notice that all the local bars were rammed to the gills, so that’s great for the local art scene and the community and social change and political, uh, ooooh, wait, wait, political, ooooooh, oh my God, change, and a place where artistic experimentation is fostered and OH YES, and the conditions under which art is made, techniques used as well as the social function that art can serve and, unusual locations beyond the beaten path host artistic activities, especially in the public realm, where artworks can be discovered, made accessible and given new uses and OH MY FUCKING GOD and artists stimulation, and foundation for art and artist COURAGE, AND BRAVERY, and OH YEEEEES, DO IT, art, streets, Berlin, NEUKÖLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLN, YES, I’M CUMMMMMMMMMMMMING, YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!