Sam Morril-Friend...Neighbor...Racist?/The Glamour

Guys- write comments. I enjoy reading them. There was a drop off in the last article.

So I had an incident with a heckler last night. Nothing to lose sleep over (especially if you black out). All comics have their method of dealing with a bad set- for me: Bourbon. Recommended dose: 15-20 shots. Side effects may include telling everyone in a 20 barstool radius why you're taking more than the recommended dosage.

This heckler was just a pain in the ass. "You're not funny." I asked him to come out of the darkness so I could see him (it's bright on stage). These chicken shit hecklers like to stay at a safe distance because they're cowards, which is the same reason they heckle, rather than getting on stage themselves. He responded, "What, you can't see me because I'm black?" You victimizing pussy. The irony is that this guy just assumed I'm racist for an easy out, a lazy excuse: He's stereotyping me! This race shit has got to stop. I don't hate this guy because he's black, I hate him b/c he's a piece of shit. The color of his skin is just a coincidence. I hate many white people too, believe me.

I asked him some questions about himself- like what he does for a living. Apparently this guy got a full ride to NC State as a running back, then he would be a biomedical engineer. I think one of the biggest reason I hate hecklers is because of how insecure they are. I didn't ask for this guys resumé. I'm on stage talking about things that are painful to talk about and doing my best to make them funny. I'm vulnerable up there. I'm naked. And this pussy breaks out a brag sheet like he's never made a mistake in his life. He actually said, "I could do better than you." Yeah right...This is harder than it looks, trust me. I didn't just roll out of bed. 

I'll tell you what I like about comics for the most part: their honesty and their comfort in their own skin. I raise my glass to comedians because we are constantly tested, constantly treated like dirt. I was promoting my show right outside trying to get random people to come into the show, and some lady says, "I bet your show is stupid." What do you gain from that? I'm the one pouring out my soul on stage, or outside on the street. I'm desensitized to a point that I don't get embarrassed when I should and it's because of people like you and that heckler. I fantasize about snapping and just attacking this fat woman. "YOU'RE STUPID," as a slam her face to the curb. I'd go to jail, but i'd be a legend around the comedy circuit. It would probably get exaggerated: "Sam Morril? You mean the guy that murdered the heckler?" They'd raise their glasses and envy the rush I must've had.

To the fat woman: Next time you make a rude comment, understand that you're kicking someone who is already down. I'm literally filling this room with people on the street for 2 hours in the rain so I can perform for an ungrateful audience- and understand that you're saying this to a comic's face. Someone who writes everyday and performs almost every night because this is my passion. That's right, I have a passion. What's yours? I'm sure that heckler didn't roll around in bed saying, "I hope someday I can work in engineering." I deal with anger and frustration by writing jokes and performing, what inspires you? 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think, "Sam, it's not too late to be normal. You're young. Go to law school or med school or something." I could be a really funny doctor. Nobody heckles a doctor. "You're bad at this. I could do better."

"You're right. Operate on your own heart, shithead."

The worst thing about the disrespect is that I actually fear getting my ass kicked after some of these shows. Some people just can't take a joke. My friend talks me out of my initial reaction: "The pen is mightier than the sword." Next time I'll stab this guy with a pen.

Thanks for reading.

Keep fighting,

Sam

Obama and Lesbians. Change I can Believe in.

The Obama victory was one of the craziest nights I've ever seen in New York City. The Obama fanatics were rowdy, shouting at the top of their lungs, slamming trash can lids together at 11 at night (which was ironic considering the old McCain voters were probably trying to sleep this off). I watched as those fortunate enough to sport Obama t-shirts or beanies got fist bumps and hugs, similar to the way I used my Eli Manning jersey to get laid just a months back, and hopefully once again this February. I celebrated the victory like any optimistic patriot: by trying to capitalize on the excitement of the night and translating it into a one-night-stand. My Israeli friend, Shak and I went bar hopping. We stopped at a bar on 13th street and he said, "dude, Tuesdays are lesbian night here!" I didn't know how he knew this or whether or not I should be excited, but followed his lead. I stopped at the door, "I don't know...."

"Sam, the ratio of girls to guys in here has got to be like 10 to 1." It sounded great on paper. 

He continued, "Sam, you don't understand. This is a LESBIAN bar. I hooked up with a LESBIAN here." Convincing, but I still wasn't sold....Not until I heard a chant from Union Square: "Yes we can! Yes we can! Yes we can!" I became a believer. This is America. No one expected Barack to beat Hillary in the primary, no one expected Barack to beat McCain in the election, and DAMN IT- no one expected this to be such a shallow exposé. Shak whispered to me, "This is the place to have a three-way, man." A three-way? Back the fuck up, mister. I live in a studio apartment with a chubby cat. One girl is a squeeze. Two girls? That's a fire hazard.

We walked into the bar and I gotta' tell you- not exactly what I expected. I was picturing lesbians that looked like Jessica Simpson having pillow fights. It was more along the lines of lesbians that looked like OJ Simpson getting along just fine...They weren't the glamorous lesbos I had fantasized about. They were more similar to regular women who just weren't attracted to me. Ew! I was getting looks like I was crashing a private party. "Who invited you?" Who invited me? America! I know my rights.

I felt like a Jehovah's witness, trying to persuade women to get on board with my cause. "Just give it a chance!" The first girl I ever had oral sex is now a lesbian. Why can't I convert women the other way? I should call her...

While I was gay profiling, I finally found some pretty hot girls who looked slightly less repulsed by me. I made some small talk, some super charming lines like: "I hear you lesbians wear strap-ons in those pornos I watch....Well I have a real penis. Interested?" They must have been legit lesbos or that line would've melted them like butter. I struck out. 

It didn't work out, and as I left the bar, I felt like I had failed my country. This wasn't the fault of the lesbians on 13th street. I and I alone had lost this erection. I pictured John McCain consoling his fans, tears dropping down their handle bar mustaches, heads sunk in their non-aborted babies. Shak consoled me: "Sam, you gave it your best shot." He was right. I did. Maybe in four years, if I'm not too old and still immature, I'll give a lesbian bar another shot. God bless America.

Love,

Sam