Notes

Ward was interviewed in February 2008 for the Quad Cities (Iowa and Illinois) newspaper.

(Reprinted by permission)

Looking out my window, I see that it's a cold winter day. Snow is everywhere, and the flurries started a few hours ago. People are bundled up as they hurry along the sidewalk, some of them clutching warm cups of coffee in their gloved hands. Walking down the street in my neighborhood, I look around with the wonder of a child and get that feeling that only comes to me when it's Christmastime.

...but it isn't.

It's almost March, out crying out loud. I feel as if I'm in the midst of the holiday season, and I put that to bed almost two months ago. Yet, standing in the middle of my street, I'm full of yule tidings all over again. Why? Not because of the snow or the chill in the air. That'll be here for weeks to come. No, I'm feeling that holiday spirit because half the population in my city still hasn't taken the Christmas Wreaths off their front doors!

It happens every year. I find myself on a stroll in my neighborhood or, more often, traveling in some other city in North America, only see the wreaths still hanging on the fronts of homes until almost April. Sometimes there's even a half-inflated plastic snowman or Santa Claus, still trying to wave at me from under the weight of two pounds of dirty snow and ice, slumped over in the yard. These poor, depressed symbols seem to be taunting me, reminding me of a joyful season that didn't disappear in grand fashion on New Year's Eve, but instead whimpered away as the early weeks of the new year rolled on. Like a relative that came to visit and then refused to leave, the Christmas Wreaths are no longer welcome, and need to go away.

They are jarringly out of place, too, and only confuse my inner calendar. Their holly leaves surrounding figurines of reindeer and Kris Kringle, with "Happy Holidays" crossing through the middle, make me feel like I have dementia when I see them on my way home from Valentine's Dinner with my girlfriend. Like Rip Van Winkle, I awake one morning (or afternoon, as is normally the case) to see "Merry Christmas" ont he houses downt he street. Then I wonder to myself, "How long did I sleep?"

I can understand the Christmas lights I see that are still hanging from the trees and rooftops of the buildings in the city. I don't want to climb on my roof in the snow, either. Those lights, however, can mostly be ignored since they're useless when they aren't turned on, and hardly noticeable any other time. The lights are kind of like the invisible bacteria that I'm told have literally infested my hotel bedspread: I know they are there, I'm not happy about it, but I don't really notice them enough to be annoyed. If the local Hooters can keep Christmas lights up all year round without it looking seasonal, I guess my accident-prone neighbors can, too.

The Wreaths, on the other hand, are only on the door out of pure laziness. Seriously, people, how hard it to open the front door and pull the Christmas Wreath down? If you use your front door so little that you don't open it between December and April, it might be time to make some new friends. Have a party, meet a Jehovah's Witness, invest in a pyramid scheme, or do anything that will get you up off the couch, at the door, and yanking down Jolly Ol' Saint Nick before it's time to pull your surfboard out of the closet.

Christmas is the last in a string of annual holidays, which is why I think the Wreaths stick around so long. You put the jack-o-lantern on the doorstep and take it down when you put up the Thanksgiving decorations. Then, just as the turkey is settling in your stomach, you take down what's left of the Autumn decor and move right into Merry Christmas. Then, nothing happens for a while and here are people's Christmas decorations only go away with the arrival of the Easter Bunny.

Well, it's time for a movement, my friends. This isn't some covert, quiet operation that will be handled discreetly by a small army of mercenaries. No, this a full-fledged assault. For this, we might just need the help of the National Guard and foreign armies. It's the biggest inner-struggle North America has seen since perhaps the Civil War. This will require skill, strength, cunning, and military intelligence, the likes of which we have never seen. I call it "Operation: Wreath Out".

Much like "Hands across America", this movement involves taking your hand and reaching out (or "wreathing out", if you'll pardon the expression) to your neighbors and loved ones. Let them know that you support them, believe in them, and know in your heart of hearts that the Wreaths can be taken down painlessly and with little effort. Take a stand in your community and get others around you to join in our fight. Much like a grassroots campaign, we can win this if we stick together and let our numbers grow. Contact the local media and demand their attention to this matter as it pertains to the very backbone of our society as we know it. Ask your elected officials what they can do to see that no Wreath is left behind.

Change can happen, and it can happen now. We can make a difference and, just like returning an orphan child to his family, we can give the Holiday Season back to December where it belongs. Every year, people in the media and press speculate that there is a "War on Christmas" happening right now in our very community. My friends, that war does exist.

Unfortunately, it exists in March.

I see movies all the time.  When I'm on the road, it's not unusual for me to catch as many as three in one day, if I have the time off or plenty of down-time before a show at night.  Other men are really, really into sports and will always catch their favorite team, no matter the time of day, as long as there is a game to be seen.  Well, I've never been into sports, but I'll sit in an awful theatre mid-afternoon in Tulsa, Oklahoma, if there's a great popcorn film to be had. In fact, I'm just as much (if not more) addicted to popcorn as I am watching movies.  That's my one, true vice if ever I were to claim one: popcorn.  I have been eating healthy foods for years, quit smoking and heaving drinking, and exercise on a regular basis. But BOY I sure do love me some popcorn. In fact, I love a big tub of popcorn so much, I'll even like a movie more if the popcorn is exceptionally good that day.  If I watch a movie that is a definite "C", I'll elevtate my review to a "B-" just by default.  If the popcorn sucks, and is too salty or way overbuttered, I'll likely not have as much fun in the theatre altogether.  Recently, I had a blast seeing "Juno" and, due to a fantastic bucket of popcorny goodness, what was already a really good movie has now been remembered, in my mind, as a cinematic masterpiece.  My opinion may change once the flick is on DVD but, for now, I'm all smiles. That being said, I've been going through a bit of a personal struggle as of late.  Even the bestest popcorn in the world cannot save me, I think, from the outpouring of truly depressing movies Hollywood has been doling out over the past year or so.  By depressing, I don't mean movies that I wish were simply better than they were, such as "Fred Claus".  I'm talking about movies that are often fine films themselves, but otherwise just plain downbeat and sad, right up to the closing credits. I'm all for reality in film and am not one to dismiss a downbeat ending simply because it isn't all sunshine and rainbows.  In fact, a comedian pal of mine, whom I often travel with, often mocks me with an impression of how I always rant "That doesn't happen in real life" while watching a movie where people act like idiots and do things that only movie characters do.  That being said, I also don't think that a happy ending is necessarily a bad thing, nor something I have to be ashamed of wanting from the average Hollywood movie. I go to movies to escape reality and to enjoy the (sometimes) fictional adventures of people I want to see succeed.  I do not go to movies to be more depressed about the world than when I walked into the cineplex in the first place.  In Toronto, where I live, a movie costs $12, with no matinee prices.  Coupled with my beloved popcorn and a soda (or "pop", as Canadians say), costing me an extra $12, I'm already $24 in the hole before I've even seen the film, and that's if I'm at the cineplex alone.  That's depressing enough without Hollywood killing beloved characters simply to make a point as to how gritty and "real" the movie is supposed to be. I don't think every movie has to have a happy ending, nor do I think that every character needs to live to see another sunrise.  Movies from "Arthur" to "The Fisher King" have handled that without making me want to hang myself.  But I also don't need to waste my two hours watching needless tragedy simply because a former film student wants to be taken more seriously and, apparently, making people cry is a great way to do that. The worst part about the "downbeat ending" trend is that it simply wastes my time for all the wrong reasons.  I don't mind giving up two hours of my life to see a gallant hero get beaten and almost blown up if, at the end, there's an enjoyable payoff that has me leaving the theatre with a smile on my face or, at the very least, a sense of having seen something actually accomplished.  But to waste that very same two hours of my life watching people struggle relentlessly, only to fail and die seems completely pointless.  Why invest any interest in a story or characters if I'm only to lose them all and have the moral of the story be that, typically, people don't overcome the odds?  Typically, the overwhelming odds against them actually do overwhelm them, and they do not succeed.  Instead, they die trying. I already realize that, Hollywood.  I don't need you to remind me of it.  In fact, I'd appreciate it if you could actually try to make me forget it while I'm watching your overbudgeted flick. This isn't really a new trend, although it has become more popular as of late.  I remember sitting in a film class I took when I was at University, watching all of the student films that were produced.  Almost none of the films made by aspiring writers and directors were comedies, and a vast majority featured some awful, pretentious plot that ended with the main character meeting his untimely end.  Each of these young filmmakers thought he was making a bold statement, going against the "norm" that was typical of Hollywood.  What none of them realized is that they were simply creating an all-new "norm" of their own.  Now, years later, there's absolutely nothing shocking or original about the "main character dies" plot device, nor the "downbeat ending" that I've seen no less than six times in the past two months. I'm aso tired of the "We're-so-not-like-typical-Hollywood-because-our-movie-has-a-downbeat-sad-ending-and-that-just-makes-us-so-cool-and-different" movies coming out that I'm deliberately avoiding movies that I can tell just by the previews might be that way.  It's not unique anymore, it's not interesting anymore, and it's even become pretty predictable.  Like the huge, digital clock on a time bomb that keeps ticking downward to an explosion, the downbeat ending is now just another Hollywood cliche I want to avoid when I'm watching a flick.  If you can make a great, interstesing, sad ending that somehow makes sense and has a point other than to shock the audience, I'll be the first to defend it.  But nowadays it just seems like that is the goal of the filmmaker, rather than to actually entertain me first.  Everyone is so busy trying to recreate the final scene from "Planet of the Apes" that they don't stop to realize that that movie was suspenseful and entertaining long before it's final twist.  At least in that movie, the hero got to live to see another day, with his absurdly hot, mute love-slave riding shotgun along the way.  If most young filmmakers had it their way these days, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker would've both died, the crane kick would've failed to stop Johnny from winning the karate tournament, and the giant shark would've eaten Brody and swum away.   What's so bad about a happy ending, anyway?  There was a time when we went to movies to see things that we only wished could happen, but normally do not.  we wanted the underdog to overcome, not fall behind.  We went to movies to cheer and applaud, not cry and feel "taught" what someone deemed was a lesson we need to know.  Have we become so cynical and numb to optimism that the very idea of implausible success is too ridiculous to enjoy?  Isn't that what movies are all about?  I get my "reality" every day, in the form of news, media, radio, and (shudder) television.  I want my movies to remain an escape fom that reality, not a sad reminder that it exists. So, Hollywood, please stop depressing me.  I already know that death is inevitable and that, typically, the bigger, meaner guy wins the bar fight.  I look to you to convince me it doesn't always have to be that way.  If beloved main characters have to die, then make me believe it has to be that way, is necessary, and that a downbeat ending is for some reason other than to prove the sadistic nihilism of a writer who is mostly thinking about his award speech and not his audience. I'll give it to you this way: It might not be the most realistic ending that the hooker from "Pretty Woman" marries the millionaire and they both live out their lives in a glorious penthouse of happiness, but it sure is a whole lot more enjoyable than the thought of her getting pistol-whipped by a pimp and left dead on the floor, which was the original ending to that movie. True story.  Now, go have a good cry.  I need to make some popcorn.

Some of the best audiences a comedian could ever ask for are in the midwestern United States.  Unlike many of the "City Audiences" who look upon stand-up comedy with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude, the crowds in the midwest always seem genuinely excited to be at the show.  Not only that, but they often make the show a big event, with even a Wednesday night gig in the middle of nowhere feeling like a huge party that everyone has been inivted to attend.

That said, I typically spend March of every year touring throughout the "flyover states" in the middle of the country.  It's always the perfect time to be there, it seems, because the ten feet of snow has melted, yet it's still cold enough to get people into a comedy club.  Once summer kicks in, the people find nice things to do outdoors and the clubs stuggle to keep going until autumn brings everyone back for more laughs.

As much as the midwestern tour is fun and rewarding, it can be a bit of a drag at times.  See, it's not the kind of tour where I can slide into town on a Wednesday and be back home on Sunday.  When traveling through the midwest, I'm so far from home at any given point that it makes sense to go ahead and book a full month at a time.  For about five straight years, I haven't even seen my apartment on St. Patrick's Day.  Since I'm not working every day of the week, that leaves me sitting in random hotels on the off nights, often in little towns I've never heard of where there is nothing to do.  The weekends fly by, with huge crowds laughing at every single line I say...but the early weekdays seem to be nothing but boredom and endless cornfields.

So, imagine how nice it was when, in the middle of a tour from Illinois to South Dakota, I was offered a last-minute gig in the fine city of Minneapolis.  Not only was the money good, but it offered me the chance to spend a night in one of the coolest cities in the country.  On top of that, I was getting a paid night in a three-star hotel instead of putting myself up in some "ma and pa" shack in the middle of nowhere.  As luck would have it, Minneapolis was on my way to South Dakota anyway, making the trip much easier altogether.  I quickly accepted the offer, no questions asked.

Minneapolis is known for having great comedy.  There are a ton of talented comedians living in that city and touring all over the area.  Lewis Black even recorded one of his best albums in that city and it's a city many people try to get back to once they've been there.  Comedy aside, the people there are really into arts and entertainment in general, including some great local theatre and really cool bands in every other club in town.  It's like an artistic dream that appears in the middle of nowhere as you come driving up from the south.  Being offered a gig there was a a no-brainer and I was looking forward to doing it. 

I arrived at the club that night with the usual excitement I get when working at a new club for the first time.  Immediately, everything seemed right on the money.  The club staff was great and friendly the second I walked through the door, and the manager was quick to ask me how I liked my steak cooked.  What a treat!  I'd been eating fast food for days and was all set to have some chicken wings that night until I was suddenly given the chance to indulge on some Filet Mignon.  Many comedy clubs serve food, but rarely do we get to eat fine dining like I was being offered at this place.

I was led downstairs to a private green room that was better than most I've seen in the business.  It was a huge room with comfortable sofas, chairs, and a wide-screen TV for me to watch while waiting for the gig to start.  The manager reached in a large, stocked fridge and tossed me a beer.  If I didn't want it, there was still several types of sodas and bottled water for me to choose from, as well as some finger food on the coffee table.  And, yes, there was a big bowl on the table that everything except brown M&Ms.  I felt like someone finally got it and was treating the comedians like we always wish to be treated.  Things couldn't have been better.

And that's the problem.  Whenever you hear a comic say "Things couldn't have been better", know that there is a shitstorm on the way.  I've heard many stories over the years about all kinds of scenarios.  What I've never heard is a story that ENDED with "Things couldn't have been better".  I have, however, heard countless stories that BEGAN with this very phrase, only to be told a scenario that involved angry mobs throwing used condoms at a juggler and comedians who are beaten to submission, their dreams and ambitions completely destroyed. 

This is, dear reader, another one of those stories.

I'm sitting in this enormous green room, my feet on the coffee table as if it were my own, waiting for my steak to be cooked, when the manager walks up to me with the big news.  It seems that there was a mistake made by the booking agents at the club.  (Authors note: If I had a dollar for every time a booking agent made some kind of stupid mistake that resulted in a comedian banging his head against a wall in frustration, well, I'd have enough money to live like a booking agent and not a comedian)  This club, I'm told, has TWO bookings agents.  One agent handles comedians and the other handles musicians.  By mistake, on this particular night, they accidentally booked BOTH.

"The musician booked for the night is kinda a local celebrity," the manager told me and, for the first time, I noticed she had very big eyes, very pouty lips, and very exposed breasts that she put directly in my face as she leaned over and told me the bad news, "Do you think you could shorten your show a bit so he can go on after the comedy is done?"

At first, this didn't seem like such a bad thing at all.  Here I was, being offered the same money as before for doing a shorter show.  Less work and more money always go hand-in-hand, in my book.  I agreed to do it, sending the happy manager and her perfect breasts bouncing out of the room to announce the good news to everyone else.  For all she knew, it was going to be the perfect solution.  The audience would get some hilarious comedy, followed by a concert by their local rock star.  It was, to a club manager, a win-win scenario.  I, on the other hand, was already feeling screwed.

You see, there's something I already knew that most comedians either already know or will certainly one day learn the hard way:  Opening for musicians sucks.

I still don't know who came up with the horrible idea that, before watching their favorite singer or band, an audience would enjoy watching some jackass onstage, telling jokes.  Yes, from a business standpoint, it makes sense.  A comedian costs MUCH less than an opening band and requires a lot less equipment and setup.  But, to the audiences and the comedian doing the show, it's like trying to teach a pig to sing: it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

As a comedian, you're just asking to be ignored.  Nobody leaves the Fleetwood Mac concert talking about the comedy stylings of the funny clown they weren't listening to in the first place.  Yes, it's really cool that you might get to meet Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, but no one is going to give a rat's ass about you, and you'll be fully aware of that long before the opening licks of "Go your own way".

And, if you're lucky, you'll only be ignored.  Beer bottles hurt when they are thrown at you and it's when opening for bands that comedians typically get hit with them.  If you take a job opening for a band, you'll likely enjoy cashing the check, but don't count on adding new members to your fanclub because you were there.

Yet it happens all the time.  I know many comedians who regularly open for bands, from local bar shows to big-named groups in Central Park. I, myself, once opened for a shitty cover band in Atlanta simply because the money was good.  It's a double-edged sword, and one that many comedians fall on every single week.

So, a short while later, I was hanging out backstage, waiting for the show to begin.  The local hero hadn't even gotten there yet, but his audience was in full force, tossing back drinks and yapping like a group of kids at a Wiggles show.  I had no idea what this guy was going to be like or what kind show he'd be performing, but I already knew that this crowd was not in the mood to sit quietly for almost two hours, watching THREE comedians waste time before their rock star hit the stage.  Needless to say, thing couldn't have been better.

Did I mention the money was good?

I rarely drink before a show, but my mood had shifted and I was already enjoying my fourth free coctail that the club manager had graciously been tossing at me as if they were bottled water.  From the bottom of my glass, I watched the other two comedians go onstage and essentially eat ass for a combined forty-five minutes.  As they each went through their usually funny reportoire, the audience went about ignoring the show completely, excited about their gorgeous idol who had yet to arrive.  When they did stop to pay attention, the crowd's reaction was a mixture of apathy, contempt, and general confusion.  For all they knew, it could've been a stuffed monkey onstage being lit on fire.

I ordered another drink.

"You might want to be cleaner than those guys," a voice came from behind me, "I don't think this crowd wants it dirty."  The manager was pouting again, her big eyes and big lips and big breasts posed out to me in a way that said I should listen to what she was saying or I'd never know the touch of a woman again.  You'd think I would've nodded my head and heeded her warning.  Instead, like the stubborn narcissist I am, I nodded...and decided to take my filthiest game to the court.

See, telling a comedian last-minute that he has to do his show differently than he is used to is a sure-fire way to ensure the exact opposite of what you intended.  We're a cynical group of assholes, and we don't like being told how to do our show.  I, personally, would rather a club never book me at all than tell me right before I go onstage how I'm supposed to do my show.  It's insulting to the hard work I've put into my act and, quite frankly, gives the impression that non-comedians know how it feels to be a comedian.  No one ever tells a fireman how to handle himself before he runs into a blazing skyscraper.  But, for some reason, every third jackass you meet on the street has an opinion on how comedians should operate and isn't afraid to spout it as fact.

Keep in mind, I'm not even a very dirty act.  Neither were the other two comedians onstage that night.  But it was obvious that the crowd that evening weren't just annoyed by the four-letter words being spewed by my comedic bretheren, there were downright shocked.  I knew that they weren't just looking for a show that was non-offensive, they were looking for one that was child-like.  As the second comic finished wiping the floor with his own ass, I could tell that it was already hopeless.  If I wasn't going to put this show on my list of "Best Evers", the least I could do is go out in a blaze of glory.

Finally, after watching the trainwreck onstage before me, it was my chance go up and be a part of the carnage instead of merely a witness.  As the MC said my name and the huge sound of indifference followed, I pretended to be excited as I took the microphone in my hand.

At this point, I should point out that I'm not a complete asshole.  I'm not in the business of offending people just for the sake of doing it, and I don't want to pre-judge an audience without first and foremost getting a vibe of what they are like.  I had no intention of just jumping on that stage and insulting the audience with a birage of angry, filthy, horrible humor that was simply going to offend them and make them wish they'd stayed home that night.  After all, it wasn't THEIR fault that these comics were booked to open for their cutesy boy-band singer.  Why should they be punished?  I decided not to blame them and simply try and give them a decent show.

So, attempting to keep the peace, I started my show off nice and polite and continued it that way for a very long, very painful ten minutes.  There were easily one hundred people crammed into that club, and the ten who were listening to me didn't seem to find it very funny.  Without saying a single word deemed offensive by the FCC or MPAA, I had already offended everyone in the audience simply by stating that I enjoyed sex that was of the premarital variety.  A little pissed off that all it took to turn the crowd away from me was a little talk about the horizontal hokey-pokey, I shifted my gears and drove into uncharted territory.

For the next 25 minutes, I spoke of everything you could imagine that wasn't pretty.  I spoke of sex.  I spoke of dead things.  I spoke of sex WITH dead things.  I talked about how Easter is a creepy and no one sings about how neato it was that Jesus crawled out of his grave.  I made jokes about sex with imaginary creatures.  I talked about how I once date-raped a Teddy Ruxpin.  All the while, I watched as one hundred people went from being completely indifferent to suddenly fully aware of my existence..and in complete horror.

As I left the stage, the audience applauded.  They didn't clap because they loved the show or because they were impressed by how hilarious I was.  They applauded because I finally got their attention.  They applauded because, even though I scared the living shit out of them, they had respect for me.  They applauded because they knew that they'd been beaten.  Not even their romantic singer/songwriter, now waiting in the wings, could save them from what I had done.  I had failed as a comedian, yes...but as a symbol of power and authority, I had won.

I came off the stage with a mixture of bravada and shame running through me.  The star of the show was there, guitar in hand, to greet me with a firm handshake.  Although I had just offended his audience, he smiled at me, patted me on the back, told me how talented he thought I was, and wished me well.  As he took the stage and the place erupted with the thunderous cry of adoration and lust, I simply shook my head and what had just happened.

The manager walked backstage, looking beaten.  To my surprise, she wasn't angry with what I had done, nor was she about to throw me out on my ass.  Instead, she laughed in an exhausted way that said she couldn't believe what she had just seen, but was happy to have seen it.  Not only was she not angry at what I'd done, she applauded it and found it absolutely hilarious.

"But I tanked," I said, fully aware that it was NOT what I'd call a successful show, "You're okay with that?"

"Well, yeah," her breasts said, "I thought it was hilarious.  I didn't book the musician.  Not my fault his audience didn't get the humor."

"Yeah," I said, "but did you hear them applaud?  They must've liked SOMETHING I did, right?

"Nah," she said, "That's just what people like that do."

I raised an eyebrow, completely oblivious to what she was talking about.  Who was this guy onstage?  Who was this audience that had come to see him?  Why were they so unappreciative and so welcoming at the same time?  Where the hell was I?

"Christian Rock," the manager grinned at me, "I didn't know it, either."

Turns out the guy onstage at that very moment was, indeed, a very popular local musican.  He was a very popular CHRISTIAN ROCK musician.  I had just gone onstage and insulted 100 people who were now listening to the nicest, cleanest, most unoffensive man on the entire planet.  Ten minutes before listening to a blue-eyed babydoll sing about how wonderful God and Jesus are, I had just told the entire audience about how small my penis is and how I masturbate with children's toys.

And that applause?  That wasn't the audience suddenly turning around and accepting me or accepting my talent.  No, it was something different.  That was the sound of 100 Christians doing something they felt was Christ-like.  All at once, despite what I'd done, they applauded to let me know that I was being fogiven.

Amen...?

MY BIO:

Originally from Atlanta, Georgia, Ward Anderson has quickly become one of the hottest young comedians working today.  His high-energy, physical comedy has made him a favorite with audiences everywhere, who are always thrilled with his over-the-top performances.  Appearing all over the United States and Canada, this rising star is also a favorite with young audiences, to which Anderson performs at colleges everywhere.

Anderson is the author of the humor book The Ultimate Bachelor's Guide, a satire about life as a single man in a world full of married couples.  With chapters that include "The Bachelor's Drinking Game" and "A Bachelor's Guide to Chick Flicks", Anderson's book contains the same offbeat humor that has comedy audiences asking for his return after each performance.

Raised in the theatre, Anderson has performed in such plays as Romeo and Juliet and Fool for Love, as well as the musicals Chicago and Carnival.  He has also made appearances on The Speed Network, Comedy Central and on Canadian TV.  When he is not performing stand-up comedy all over the globe, Anderson spends his time acting and writing.  He is currently awaiting the publication of his second book, a novel which will be published in 2007.

Click below to see a live video clip of Ward onstage in Cincinnati, Ohio at Go Bananas Comedy Club. 

(Video Clip courtesty of rooftopcomedy.com)

http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/media/watch_wm_clip.asx.php?clip=Ward_Anderson_20060630

Today's Douchebag:

"The Mofo who tries to drag race on the highway"

He's seen all 3 of the "Fast and Furious" movies.  He's got a suped-up Toyota Corolla with a huge spoiler on the back that is bigger than a Great Dane.  The car itself is neon blue with fluorescent lights shining all over the thing.  He comes up behind you on the highway doing Mach-12 and getting right on your ass as if his car was a big metallic penis to make up for his lack of efficiency in the bedroom.  After swerving around you and then flying off down the road, this jackass weaves in and out of traffic to show off his great driving skills that he learned in bad movies that most people don't even watch on cable.

And he's 17.

Got news for you, tough guy, NO ONE is impressed with your ability to drive like an idiot on the highway or the fact that you know how to put your foot to the floor.  Driving 100 miles per hour on a straight highway isn't a finely aquired skill, it's stupidity.  And, by the way, if you really WERE a driver to be envied or admired, you wouldn't have to drive a Corolla with Lego Parts attached to it.

"Harry Potter and The Potion that Makes Hermoine Put Out"

"Green Eggs and Botchulism"

"The Gym Teacher is a Lesbian, and that's okay"

"Why Mommy dances with a Brass Pole"

"It's your fault dogs don't live that long"

"You're the only one who poops"

"Divorce is a good idea"

"Are you there God?  It's me, Michael Jackson"

"SuperFudgepacker"

"One bus is bigger than the other"

"Daddy likes to wear dresses, and that's okay"

"Horton Hears a Whore"

"Mouths don't get Pregnant"

"Why you'll never be as good as Jesus"

Now available at bookstores everywhere!

Today's Douchebag:

The Snobs at "Borders" and "Barnes and Noble" bookstores.

There are 2 types of Douchebags I'm talking about.

1.  The jackass that shushes me when I'm talking on my phone or to another person. 

Hey, idiot...It's not a library, IT'S A BOOKSTORE!  It's a goddamned retail outlet, it isn't your personal study area.  This mofo is sitting at a table in the bookstore with 43 different texts in front of him, trying to do a research paper or get a new mortgage.  Is he even going to BUY THOSE BOOKS?!  Chances are, he isn't, but he feels like Borders is his own little haven, his own little study area.  They have libraries, genius, but the trendy bookstore isn't one.  I'll be quiet in the library...wait, no I won't.  You know why?  Because I don't go to the library, I BUY MY BOOKS A FREAKING BOOKSTORE!

2.  The snotty little bastard who works there.

I realize that you think that, because you work in a place that has tons of literature, you're smarter than the average person and on a higher thinking level than most.  But, you know what?  You're still a cashier in a bookstore.  I don't need you to sigh when I ask for help or seem inconvenienced that I took you away from sipping your Latte to get you to make me MY FREAKING LATTE!  Once again, this isn't a library, it's a retail store.  The idea is to get all those books OUT OF THE STORE, not keep them there.  You being an asshole is only going to keep them there.  Not the mission.

 There is no shame in being the cashier in a bookstore.  But that's what you are so do it and don't make me out to be the asshole for expecting it.  I also don't need you to roll your eyes at my selection of magazines I buy or if I'm reading the latest mass-produced, popular novel.  There are people who think they're really cool because all they read is obscure books by obscure authors.  Guess what?  They aren't.

...And why the hell don't you have 5 copies of "The Ultimate Bachelor's Guide" in stock?

Today's Douchebag:

"The assbag who orders 94 different things at McDonald's Drive-Thru Window"

You're just dropping in for a quick cheeseburger or something off the dollar menu, but this douchebag has to pick up lunch for the entire soccer team/construction site/office/study group/convention/after-school class/druken ass party/group of friends.  Not only is he doing this at the supposedly "quick" Drive-Thru window...he's got a million different things he wants done with each order.  So, 20 minutes later, after waiting for the 37 "no pickles", the 23 "no ketchups" and the 9 "no bun" orders, you've forgotten what is was you were doing there in the first place.  Hey, buddy...not only are you too annoying to go inside and order your enormous smorgasboard...you're Today's Douchebag.

THE IDIOT AT THE COUNTER WHO HAS NO FREAKIN' CLUE

You know exactly what you want.  Hell, you've had over 20 minutes of standing in line to figure it out.  You've even got the exact change in your head, with the tax and everything included.  But not THIS DOUCHEBAG in front of you.  No, he's been busy talking to the person next to him/on his cell phone/at nothing in general for the past 20 minutes and hasn't even bothered to look at the menu!  It doesn't matter if you're at McDonald's or Starbucks or the local Multiplex, this particular Douchebag is everywhere....and he's always in front of you.

"Hey, Douchebag, how about you stop breathing through your mouth long enough to decide what the hell you want...while the rest of us impatiently grow old in line behind you?!?!"

Today's Douchebag:

"The Big SUV driving douchbag who bullies everyone on the road when it rains/snows."

Four Wheel Drive doesn't make you invincible and does NOT mean that you can drive at any speed on the highway no matter the conditions.  And going thirty miles over the speed limit in bad weather doesn't make your penis any bigger.  Accept it.  I, personally, love to see SUV's stuck in a ditch on the side of the road...especially if it's a Hummer.

TODAY'S DOUCHEBAG IS:

That Really Loud, Annoying Guy at the Gym.

We get it, dude.  You like to work out.  You lift really heavy weights.

This dipshit likes to scream when he's pumping iron.  After all, the weight is heavy.  That and, if he doesn't scream, you won't notice him at all...and he can't have that.  He wants you to see him every time he slams the weight down and grunts like a fuckin' caveman.  He wants you to know that he's probably bigger than you and, even if he's not, he works harder at the gym than you ever will.  Chances are pretty good that he only partly knows what he's doing and would probably be in better shape if he concentrated on working out instead of showing off...but that's not important.  What's important is that he LOOKS like he's bigger, badder, better, and more important than everyone in that gym.  He's a real man. And a total Douchebag.  CONGRATULATIONS!

(Reprinted by permission.  All rights reserved.)

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Stand-up comedian couldn't save Pistons

By Neal Rubin / The Detroit News

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Well, shoot. This was supposed to be about the Detroit Pistons' victory parade Monday, but I stood along Woodward all morning and didn't see a single player.

Instead, let's go with the Red Wings, as filtered through a former Hooters manager from Woodhaven who's now a stand-up comic from Washington, D.C.

Ward Anderson was the headliner Thursday at Mark Ridley's Comedy Castle in Royal Oak. It was a tough night to be any business without a large-screen television and a beer tap, and an even tougher night to be a comedian.

The previous Tuesday, when the Pistons beat the San Antonio Spurs in Game 6 of the NBA Finals, was even worse. In a room that can seat 200 people, or 400 with the rear curtain open, Ridley had 40 customers watching the Totally Unrehearsed Theater improv group. "It's so quiet," he said, "you can hear a business fail."

Then came the championship game, which coincided with the beginning of Anderson's three-night stand. If not for 30 GM interns, a dozen people from a Ferndale arts board and our party of 10, the large man snoring loudly at the next table might have had the club to himself.

Peering into the glare of the stage lights, Anderson could see people checking their watches. "No one was drinking," he says, and most everyone was thinking, "If this guy would be funny a little faster, we could catch the second quarter."

"One of the biggest laughs came when I said some guy was on his Palm Pilot checking the score," says Anderson, 32. "There's an old saying that only the truth is funny."

He also did nicely when he gushed about Meijer stores: "The Meijer here is so big, there's a Wal-Mart in it."

Anderson came to appreciate Meijer seven years ago after Hooters transferred him to Taylor from Atlanta, where he grew up. "I'd get off work at 2 a.m.," he says, "and where else at 2 in the morning am I going to go buy groceries and shoes?"

He'd lived in Michigan for all of three or four days when he decided to take himself out to dinner in Royal Oak for his birthday. It was June 16, 1998.

"Everywhere I looked, people had brooms in their car windows and stuff like that," he says. "I had no clue what any of it meant."

He ate in a restaurant nice enough that it didn't have a TV tuned to the Stanley Cup, then started to walk back to his car. Suddenly, he says, the doors to every bar on the street burst open and waves of fans washed across the sidewalks shouting, "We won! We won!"

"Apparently," he said to himself, "there's a war nobody told me about." He had to stop a rusher-by to find out what happened: Red Wings 4, Washington 1, for a four-game sweep and the championship of the NHL.

"It was the closest thing I'd seen to a friendly riot," he says. An extremely friendly riot, even. "A girl out of nowhere turned around and said, 'Kiss me. It's my birthday.' I said, 'Hey, it's my birthday, too.' She said, 'What are you waiting for?'"

Then she vanished, much like the Pistons' hopes for a second straight title last week.

Anderson lived in Michigan for only seven months before Hooters shipped him to Atlantic City. He left the company not long afterward to try comedy, worked his way up to headliner, and now gets to put 88,000 miles a year on his used Honda Passport.

He has a book to his credit ("The Ultimate Bachelor's Guide"), a Web site (wardanderson.net), and a .500 record as a good luck charm for Detroit sports teams.

"I was really hoping the Pistons would win," he says, if only so he could enjoy another romp through the streets of Royal Oak. Who knows ... he might have even run across the girl with the birthday.

If it were truly a small world, of course, she would have caught his show Thursday -- and in that crowd, he'd have spotted her.

Neal Rubin appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at (313) 222-1874, nrubin@detnews.com, or 615 W. Lafayette, Detroit, MI 48226.

In January, 2005, after 200 performances, Ward had his last show at Medieval Times in Lyndhurst, New Jersey, just outside New York City.  A dinner/jousting show that features stuntmen fighting on horseback, Ward played the Lord Chancellor, host of the show, for almost two years.  The show must go on, so for more information about it, check out www.medievaltimes.com or call 1-888-WEJOUST.  Go see the talented cast and crew performing in this spectacular dinner theatre show that has been going on for over 10 years.

Cal Verduchi is a sharp, witty comedian with a knack for spot-on impressions.  He and Ward have shared the stage at numerous clubs, and will continue to do so in 2005.  Cal's website is www.calverduchi.com.  Check it out!

Have you checked out the work of Andy Hendrickson?  If not, you're missing out.  Great comic and a true pal!  www.andyhendrickson.com

Check out this site from Anthony Volastro, a young filmmaker from NYC.  Anthony has been making waves with his hit films, Another Night and Mean.  Both films are award-winners, making their way to festivals everywhere.  Anthony, himself, has won awards for his writing and directing.  I'm telling you, he's going to hit big before you know it.  Check out his site at www.anthonyv.org where you can learn more about his films and about the guy himself.

Ward's friend, author/actor Ric Meyers, continues to contribute to DirecTV Magazine, as well as Inside Kung Fu.  He is undoubtedly at work on at least one new novel, as well, so check out his stuff at www.amazon.com.  "I recommend the Books of the Dead trilogy". --sez Ward

Wouldn't it be cool to have a cape? No one wears capes anymore.

Hey, entertainment journalists, I like your magazines n' stuff, but I've got to ask you this favor: Stop using the words "Riot Grrrl" to refer to any woman that is considered remotely strong or a bad ass. It's a stupid catchphrase that NEVER caught on with the general public…only with entertainment journalists. Even the band that inspired the phrase sank into oblivion. Take the hint and stop printing the words altogether.

Please, to all of you from the north, stop making stupid jokes about how people from the south must sleep with their cousins, drive pickup trucks, chew tobacco, and be inbred morons. It's a joke that is both incorrect and overused.

 People who jerk the wheel to the right really quickly before making a left turn are idiots.

Stop telling me that I'm needy because I have a dog and not a cat.

Watching The Matrix doesn't make you a "martial arts buff".

Don’t be one of those people who walks around announcing to everyone that it is his birthday, expecting people to make a fuss over it and slap him on the back. What are you, ten years old? We all have them. Big deal. Go get drunk and shut up about it.

Stop talking about Jennifer Lopez's ass. It isn't funny or original anymore. It's old and tired. Guess what? Mick Jagger has big lips.

Just because you watch Law and Order every week does not make you an expert in criminology. It also doesn't make "studying law" a "hobby" of yours.