My second video is up on FunnyorDie. This one isn't stand-up and doesn't involve shameless flirtation from the stage with women of color. This video is what we in "The Business" call a comedy short. I am, naturally, the star so you should watch it over and over!

I've been shooting these videos based on some of my more 'visual' standup bits. I shot this one in a day and it's not as bad as being fucked in the ass by Kobe Bryant, but it's definitely a first effort in a series of 3-4 that I'll be making this summer. I'm about to shoot the next one in a week, which will be black and white with a voice-over by my friend, the uber-talented Michael C. Hall.

FunnyorDie doesn't DO letterbox so it's anamorphic or some shit and looks all stretched out like a Chinee action theater film circa 1972. As a result, throughout watching it, I feel like a ninja is about to jump from an elevated location and kick me in my solar plexus.

Anychink, the point is to watch it on FunnyorDie, leave a comment, and vote Funny. I can't MAKE you and I'm sure some of you will vote Die because isn't that fun to do?? BUT... if you vote FUNNY, I swear to GOD will give you 150k from the royalties for my next book! *

Well, maybe not, but a comment will guarantee you FREE TIX to any standup show I'm on in New York, LA, or around the country.

What happened to my LAST video that got 5k hits on FunnyorDie in 5 days? Why was it taken down?

Due to the idiosyncracies of libel laws, I won't specify.

However, I do have a bit of unrelated advice: allegedly, whenever you're hiring a closeted homosexual to do work for you, and God forbid, you have a disagreement about something, don't ever accuse them of acting 'bitchy.' They will often respond by deleting things from FunnyorDie faster than you can snap your fingers three times in a circle and then sashay to a guilty glory hole in a Westchester bathroom. Just FYI, for those of you hiring an assissytant.

* Restrictions apply. Offer only good in pesos.

Hey guys,
Sorry I haven't written a blog in a while. The reasons why not are the following:

a) life
b) laziness
c) see a

Also, I got a fancy new IMAC, but for some reason, I can't use advanced editor and ergo have to post in this measly little font without bold type. I guess it's the opposite, so it would technically be cowardly type. For my retarded fans (sorry, I should be PC: fans who are mentally handicapped retards), I apologize and hope you can stick with me through the rest of this.

Forthcoming, there will be a blog about my two favorite subjects -- my penis and comedy. Unfortunately for me, the two things seem to be inextricably linked, but such is life. Rest assured, the blog will be juicy and scandalous and titillating and there will NOT be a plug imbedded in it.

THIS blog however is indeed a plug blog -- a plog.

My assistant (he's cute, 8 years old, and also makes great Nikes) recently put a video on www.funnyordie.com and I really need you guys -- retards and non-retards alike -- to help me out by going there and voting 'funny' and/or posting a comment.

You don't have to watch the whole fucking thing -- that shit is loooooooooooonnnng -- but if you could show me a little love with a view, vote, and comment, that'd be amazing.

My goal is to get some attention from the folks there so I can do what I really want to do and post several short films of mine (i.e., porn)

For the helmet-headed tardos (i.e. family members) I will underline it and make it clickable:

CLICK HERE WITH THE MOUSY-CLICKY THING MOM!

So, go, click, and vote! Don't vote 'die' or a grandmother baking an apple pie will be murdered with a kitten.

Like Cain, Willie Nelson, Jack Kerouac, and early 90s Dave Matthews Band, I am on the road again. This time I am in Miami, at the Improv, for three days with Jamie Kennedy dropping pina colada soaked humor bombs on five shows worth of sweaty, multi-ethnic Floridians. Here are the particulars:

WHO: Jamie Kennedy and Bill Dawes
WHAT: Three Days Worth of Funny
WHERE: Miami Improv, 3390 Mary Street, Suite 182, Miami, FL 33133 USA
WHEN: Friday May 30th, Saturday May 31st, Sunday June 1st

If you are anywhere near Miami (this includes the Cubans and Haitians floating in the Keys on rafts made of tires), you should definitely make your best effort to come by and watch some Funny Ha Ha. And, of course, since this is South Florida, I've set up a translation of this post for all the Cubans and Haitians.

This coming Mother's Day weekend marks the 2-year anniversary of my working relationship with Jamie Kennedy. I told myself I wouldn't cwy! The traditional gift for the second anniversary is cotton, so I plan on giving Jamie my underpants.

To celebrate, we will do five shows over three days at the newly-monikered Times Square Comedy Club. It's just like the old Laugh Factory that the building used to house, which is just old like the old Show World strip club that the building used to house.

It's still glitzy, seedy (literally... that was a sperm joke people), gauche, and ghosts of old strangled strippers haunt it ... but in a fun way. (um, also literally. A stripper was murdered in the back dressing room shower about 9 years ago. I'm amazed they don't try to promote that more when they sell tickets to the comedy shows.)

Here are the particulars in an easy to swallow Halloween candy-size packet:

WHO: Jamie Kennedy & Bill Dawes
WHAT: It's Comedy, Stupid!
WHERE: Times Square Comedy Club (303 W. 42nd St., NY, NY 10036 -- corner of 42nd and 8th)
WHEN: Thurs 5/8 8pm, Fri 5/9 8pm and 10pm, Sat 5/10 8pm and 10pm
WHY: Why not? And how many times can you see 'Iron Man?'

Anyone who is a fan or a friend or a low-grade stalker HAS to come! This is going to be awesome. There are very limited FREE tickets and discounted tickets. So hit me up ASAP (bill@billdawes.com) if you want some of that shit. Otherwise, pay for it and support the arts, you fucking jew...

and I say that in the least anti-semitic, most slumping-consumer-confidence way possible. So please, loosen your grip on those shekels ya' schmendricks!

-------------------------

UPDATE: HALF PRICE TICKETS FOR THIS WEEKEND'S SHOWS NOW AVAILABLE!

ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS CLICK ON THIS LINK, PRINT IT OUT, AND BRING IT TO THE BOX OFFICE WHEN YOU BUY YOUR TICKETS

HERE IS THE LINK AGAIN

I cannot tell you how tired I am of being told that "men and women are different" every time I have a conversation that revolves around one of the numerous gender-based double standards that invariably result in me not getting deep-throated in an anonymous, consequence-free environment like the men's room at Laugh Factory! If only I had a nickel...

Anygag, the double-standards are inexhaustible.. I bet you could go back to the Stone Age and the first almost standing upright comic probably had a bit that went like this:

"Hey, buddy, you look woman-hole-whipped! I bet you're the gatherer at your cave and SHE'S the hunterer! Dude, you put the 'sap' in 'homo sapien'. You probably hold her animal skin-holdy-thing while she tries on skimpy animal skin foot coverings! Haha! I bet she clubbed YOU over the head and had sex with you when YOU were unconscious!!! These Upper Paleolithic women got ideas!!! Hahahahaa!! (please note that this joke endorses absolutely no previous knowledge of actual pre-history).

Unfortunately, as much as I chafe at the whole idea of men and women being fundamentally different, like gravity to physical movement, it's been the most consistent, immutable, restrictive set of rules governing my entire life. It drives me fucking crazy. And it's part of the reason gay comics have nothing to fucking talk about other than Judy Garland and how 'technology is annoying'; they can't delve into the antipodal nature of the sexes.

Take, for instance, the perplexing female obsession with shoes and handbags.

What's that you say? Women love shoes?! Come on, Bill, you can't steal Jeff Foxworthy's closer from 1987! You're right, person in my head, so let's start with that idea as a constant.

X= The female preoccupation with shoes that eludes 99.99% of all men.

Now, let's solve for Y(the fuck these bitches love shoes)..

When I was living with my ex-girlfriend -- a period in my life I call 'oops' -- she always tried to recruit me into her cult of footwear fascination. One of the ways she did this was by showing me pictures of shoes on ebay.

"Oh my God, it's a Manolo Blahnik mary jane, but look at the little daisy on the strap. This is soooooo cuuuuute! What do you think?"

Continue reading "Handbags and Handjobs"

The flight to Durban, South Africa, was shittaceous.

I'm no fancy meteorologist with a degree from a community college, but the cross-continental air currents seemed as confused as the people. For most of the journey, the plane pitched and shimmied like a space shuttle bursting through layers of atmosphere in a Michael Bay movie. I couldn't help but think that our bumpy ride was a reflection of the turbulent terrain beneath us. The bubbling cauldron of anger and political unrest seemed to agitate the air above it, and we, as working guests, had to fly right through. Stupid theory? Maybe... but has anyone ever experienced turbulence over Switzerland? I'm unconvinced.

The flying waitresses walked around with plastered smiles like it was 'Turbulent Tuesday' at Bennigans, but I was once again utterly convinced I would die a fiery death. To stave off my imminent demise, I turned and lifted my hips depending on how we careened in order to help steer the plane. Although I'm sure my Martin Short Ed Grimley impression (FUCK YOU! I'm not old!!) was effectively the only reason we didn't skid into a field of farming negroes, I also -- as a back up -- used my psychic voodoo brain waves to keep the plane aloft. Even Jamie Kennedy, very much used to my "fagolic" in-flight behavior, leaned in towards me and said, "Okay, we're probably going down. Before we do, just admit that I can get more girls than you."

"You only get more girls than me because people think you're Seth Green," I quipped back, a lonely bead of sweat swelling on my brow before falling and shattering on my rigid forearm.

In generalized moments of terror like this, my life... lollygags in front of my eyes. The discrepancy between what I want and where I'm at suddenly and sharply comes into stark relief, as if to say 'Ta da? Really Bill? That's what you brought to the table?' I always extrapolate into the aftermath of my demise, picturing the front page of the paper saying:

"JAMIE KENNEDY AND UNKNOWN COMIC DIE IN EXTRA FIERY AND INORDINATELY LONG SPIRALLING PLANE CRASH FULL OF SCREAMING BABIES!"

I try to short circuit these morbid fantasies by redoubling the quickness of my hip movements in my seat and the strength of my psychic voodoo brain waves. After all, I want an obit with a fuckin' picture next to it at least when I die! I need to book at least a CSI or two, even a syndicated reality show; something that would hypothetically earn that type of posthumous treatment. Maybe one great supporting role *coughcough* in one great independent feature film, who knows? Whatever the formula for New York Times canonization and semi-immortality is, I want the variables from my life to plug in and work. I just really don't want to be a footnote to a footnote when I die.

Continue reading "Sewth Effreekah, Paaht 3: Disturbin' The Durbans"

For the record, I didn't cheat. Over a hundred people wrote me with their suggestions, and not one of them picked both jokes. Although some came close. For all you poor-guessing losers out there, don't feel so bad. Only the Mighty Kreskin could have won that contest.

The key to figuring out which jokes piqued the wrath of the venue promoters in Johannesburg lies in a glitch in the matrix of South African culture. It manifests itself, sadly, in the cuntrosity of the people. And by that, I mean the white people.

South Africa is a puritanical country with a long history of institutionalized disenfranchisement that many of the white people there arrogantly defend with a Gestapo-esque blind sense of nationalism. Kind of like America... 70 years ago. Except Americans spent the better part of the 20th century struggling through the WEB Dubois' "Color Line" so that at least the fair-minded crackers among us can admit, "Oops." We can at least discuss the possibility of reparations (as long as black people agree to stop Martin Lawrence from making another Big Momma's House). In fact, we have come so far that we--a country comprised mostly of honkeys!--might elect a black president this year! Granted, South Africa beat us to the punch here. They already have a black president, but that's only to the severe chagrin and/or embarrassment of every white South African I met. Whenever I mentioned the opinions and politics of the incumbent president, it was uniformly met with an eye roll and a nervous laugh.

As a result, racial humor seems to work differently in these two bizarrely analogous yet distinct societies. In America, most racially insensitive/potentially incendiary jokes work on two deeply psychological levels:

1. Deindividuation. There needs to be a large group of people to buffer the possible personal nature of racial jokes. In other words, smaller crowds become a much trickier forum for anything edgy, particularly regarding race, sex, and religion. If the joke is thrown into a ribald crowd of people who feel anonymous, they will laugh from their gut without feeling singled out.

2. White Guilt Delay. Even in large crowds, 'white guilt' is a hugely important factor in the reception of jokes about race. White people will look around at whatever race is the subject of the joke to see their reaction before they will allow themselves to laugh. Once they see that, they might laugh, approximately 5 seconds after the joke has landed. Mike Vecchione calls it the '5 second white guilt delay.'

Mind you, this works only with a GOOD joke... or somewhat good joke. When you combine a shitty, bomb of a joke with racially challenging material, you have Michael Richards. The problem with Michael Richards is not that he said the forbidden word, it's that he is (was, rather) the shittiest comic on the Laugh Factory stage.

Continue reading "Sewth Effreekah, Paaht 2: While You Were Out Raping"