Bogeyman's blues

To anyone reading this.

I think I've played bogeyman's blues out for right now.

But I have a new blog. It's called, "Welcome to the Bus Show."

I think you'll like it.


Please come look. http://thebusshow.blogspot.com

You know who I really want to meet?

Soleil "Punky Brewster" Moon-Frye.

Or is that Soleil Moon "Punky Brewster" Frye?

We've got a lot in common, according to this piece from Stuff magazine.

For example, we were both born in August 1976, and we both enjoy a good playful ass slap, and we're both looking to join the mile high club.

Plus, and most importantly, we both had a lot of freckles when we were eight-years-old.

See? It was meant to be.

I'm not gonna start stalking her or anything. I'm just gonna hope that we meet on an airplane someday.

Too bad you didn't answer your phone after I got off work. I guess you were asleep.

Anyway, I can't wait to show you this bruise I got on my upper thigh. It's dartboard-shaped. It's circular, blue ring around the outside, pink inside that, with a dark red bullseye.

Here's what happened:

Animal asked me if I could fill in for him while he went out for a cigarette. I agreed because he never lingers away from his scene long on break, I actually enjoy working his scene for him, and he's bigger than I am.

So I lunge at this group with the saw, and topple right over the rail head first. Through some miracle, I didn't smack my face on concrete. Apparently, where the bruise is on my thigh is still within my center of gravity, so I was able to snap right back up.

But now the hood of my nun's habit is flipped down over my face, rather than on top of my head.

And there's this group of people I was trying to scare watching this whole embarrassing thing.

"All right," I thought. "Now I'm pissed!"

I started waving the saw as frantically and psychotically as ever. No matter how stupid that group of customers thought I was, they wewre still very afraid of me. They ran off.

Pat, one of our security guys, saw the whole thing.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I'm ok," I said, "It's just my balls."

He looked at the floor.

"I think you slipped in that puddle of sweat."

And sure enough, the floor was streaked with the glistening moisture that poured out of the skin of a very heavy guy who had been waving the same saw minutes previously.

Now that I see the bruise, I'm really glad I hit the rail with my thighs before I hit it with my balls and fell over.

Q. Excuse me sir, how long is the trip through the haunted house?
A. I don't know. It might very well take the rest of your life.

Q. Do you actually like scaring people?
A. As a matter of fact, I do.

Q. Look. A nun with a beard. Yeah, right. Like that's so scary. I'm like shaking.
A. That's not a question, asshole.

Question: You're about 6'2" in the heels on your cowhide boots, maybe 6'5" in your 10-gallon hat. Your jeans are not a relaxed fit.   The shirt you picked out at the mall says, "rugged, but neatly pressed," kinda like the president, who knows how to show those ragheads what for.

In short, you are a cowboy, strong and confident.

What other human being could possibly get inside your head and twist you all around so much that you didn't quite feel right about yourself ever again?

Answer: I don't know his real name, but they call him Animal, and he operates the saw scene at the haunt. He's a genuinely frightening human being.   Don't get me wrong, though. Once you kinda get to know the guy, he's a genuinely frightening human being.

Let me put it this way: I'm not the kind of guy who thinks its funny when a 350-pound bearded man dresses up like a woman just for yuks. However, when that guy threatens to kill people with a skilsaw while he listens to Patsy Cline, I think it's hilarious.

A lot of the actors at the haunt like to take off their makeup before they leave.

Not me.

My makeup's not that spectacular... Just some black around the eyes a' la Alice Cooper. The idea is that they won't see my skin should I decide to put on a mask.

And after an evening of sweating, the makeup tends to run.

Makes for a lot of fun when I stop at the gas station on my way home.

Some people ask, "What the hell happened to your face? Were you in a fight?"

And I'll say, "Oh no, it's just makeup. Wait! Let me explain...."

The best so far was tonight, though, holding the door for another gas station customer. The look of horror on his face was amazing. Jaw hanging open. Eyes wide. He couldn't look away. I held his terrified gaze for the entire time he walked into the store.

I guess he didn't want to turn his back on me.

What's his problem, I wondered. Hasn't he ever seen a grown man in makeup before?

The new season of Nightmare Factory has begun and I'm having a good time with it.

This year, I'm the break guy. That means I give all the other actors in scenes their breaks.

When I'm not giving breaks, I'm usually attending to details of security, changing lightbulbs, making sure things are working properly and all. Plus, I get to wander the halls and scare people whenever I feel like it.

This means I get to pick my own costume.

First night there... No real ideas for what I should wear, so I reach for what I think is a generic black cloak and find myself holding a priest's frock.

Hmmm...

And thus a new character is born. His name is Father Badtouch.

He reminds the haunted house's patrons to say their prayers and repent, "Because it's time to meet Jesus!"

The other veteran staff at the haunt fell in love with Father Badtouch immediately.
My friend Ted even suggested I pick up a nun kit at our costume shop, just to make it a bit creepier.

I did, albeit with a bit of skepticism. Turns out he was right, though.
People don't like being chased down dark hallways by bearded nuns.

After overhearing my testimonial for a father and son, a rookie on crew told me that some of the things I was saying were kind of disturbing.

I looked at him, showed him that I was listening and considering what he had to say, then said, "Well, it's a good thing we're in a haunted house, huh?" and walked off.

OK, so I've reverted to one of the blog's old titles because the haunted house is once again open for business and I'm back to doing something normal with my life, scaring the bejeezus out of people for a paycheck, rather than selling made-in-China trinkets out of the trunk of my car.

Enjoy...

Spite Club is a game.

Loser pays the winner's bar tab.

There are three rounds: Insult round, trivia round, and freestyle round (wherein you have five minutes of stage time to do whatever you want to entertain the crowd, just not your standard standup act).

I went against Zach Muhn, a guy who was beaten in an earlier Spite Club round by Alan Metoskie, a friend of his who has so much body hair, he was able to shave Zach's name into his chest, talk for five minutes about how it was wrong that he and Zach had to put each other down, because they're best friends, only to turn around to show he had the word "Sucks" shaven into his back. "Zach... Sucks."

How do you top that?

By stripping off your shirt and telling the audience that Jamie Bush and Anna Hyde are about to wax your back on stage.

Jamie is a cosmetology student at Baldwin Beauty Academy. Anna is an aesthetician at Salon 505.

Both are trained professionals (or, in Jamie's case, professionals in training) who were willing to do this for free.

Do not attempt this stunt at home.

(Note that nasty pink rectangle of discolored flesh on the right. That was Anna's doing.)

I gotta hand it to Zach: He's a smart, funny guy.

Although he lost his first round of Spite Club, his performance against Alan, show host John Rabon included him in the tournament because he gave a strong performance. He trounced me in both insults and trivia, but I carried the freestyle round, worth half the show. After all this, the audience still liked Zach better than me, applause for him edging me out by a hair. So now he moves forward in the Spite Club tournament, and has to defend himself against seven-year comedy veterans. I escape taking that sort of beating.

Also, Zach was gentleman enough to buy his own damn beer.

John beside himself as he asked for audience applause over who had the best freestyle round. Every time he looked at me he kept saying, "Jesus Christ, what kind of monster have I created?"

If you ever really want to freak people out, do something that kinda hurts, but doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it looks. The sensation was kinda like being pinched repeatedly for five minutes. All the excess wax washed off the next day, and no further complications arose.

A comic friend of mine who was sitting in the front row told me that during the show, he overheard someone behind him saying, "I can't believe I'm watching this."

After the show, John was overheard saying, "Damn it! The best Spite Clubs always go untaped!"

He apparently forgot his camera again.

But my roommate took pictures. Blogger won't allow me to directly upload photos, so as soon as I have space on the web I'll post them.

So there I was, at work, on my knees, spraypainting a skeleton's crotch thinking, "Boy, if only my friends from college fould see me now."

It's OK. It was a girl skeleton. You can tell because the shoulders are smaller and the hips are wider.

I just ran a quick contest for my friends online. It's called the "I'm doing something cooler than you are" contest.

The winners are as follows:

1. "I'm eating chicken." -- Dan in Toledo, Ohio.
2. "I'm eating a bologna sandwich." -- Me, Austin, Texas.
3. "I'm laying out Ripple Lifestyles." -- Leighanne in Elkin, N.C.
4. "Work." -- Andy in Yadkinville, N.C.
5. "I'm in my car with a thrown-out back." -- Matt in Cleveland, Ohio.
6. "My ass hurts." -- Andy (different Andy) in Charlestown, Indiana.

Thanks for playing, folks. Remember to keep on partying like it's Tuesday.