Before and After

Over the last "fat" year, people have been asking me how I did it. And by "did it" I mean losing all that weight. (In total it was around 75 pounds, give or take a few fat cells.) The answer to that question is easy and everyone who asked it already knows the answer. I didn't take any magic elixir or do any crazy asshole cleaning. Or drink just lemon juice for twenty days. Even though those diets are out there - and I have tried to do all of them - I did it by making a decision. And the decision was I didn’t want to be fat anymore. Not for my wife, not for my shitty friends, not even for my health. I just wanted to be able to run if I wanted to run or bend over and tie my shoe without gasping for air. I wanted to be able to button things again and zip things again. I wanted to be able to take my shirt off if it was too hot. Or use a dressing room in a store without feeling embarrassed if the door didn’t shut all the way. The decision I made was to change who I was.

The reason you can’t lose weight for anyone else is because people don’t want you to change even if it’s for the good. Because then you make them look at who they are. I was a lot of people’s fat barometer. They looked at me to gauge how bad they(italics) were. "As long as I’m not as fat as Bob, I’m cool.". No one cared if I was fat. Most people close to you can't even tell how fat you really are. Sometimes you can't even tell yourself. I never knew how big I was until I lost the weight. Then I tried to put on my old pants and it was fucking astonishing. You could have fit another human being in there with me. And to think at one point that other person was a part of me, attached to me. Now it is gone, thank god.

And this wasn’t the first time I made this decision to change who I was. I did it with drugs and alcohol a long time ago. And it was just as hard.

There are three stages, you could call them,, of change.
The first, is Pain. You have to feel psychological pain. It has to hurt really fucking bad. You have to look into a mirror and want to fucking break down.
Pain brings you to the second part, Awareness. "Why am I feeling so fucked? Oh I’m fat I hate myself. That’s why."

And then through that pain and awareness comes the third part- Will.
Arriving at a willingness to change is a process.

I don't think most people can wake up and just say," Hey, I’m going to change who I am today." There are a few people that can but those people fucking suck. Fuck them and their parents that are still together. Most of us are eating bad and being lazy because it makes us feel better. It takes us out of reality for a few minutes so we don’t have to be in our own heads. We have been chewed up and spit out and we need a fix. Something that will make us feel good. And a piece of cake and a glass of ice cold milk just as you sit down to watch your favorite movie for the thirty seventh time is euphoric. It is better that any drug out there. You known like the feeling of waiting for takeout delivery? Oh god, do I get excited just knowing that some man is on his way to my house with a bag of goodies. But in reality that bag isn’t a bag of goodies. It’s a bag of loneliness. That bag is, was my friend when I was feeling lonely. It’s someone to hang out with. Something to do to take me away from thinking about all my shit.

Most of us have to go through some horrid shit to hit bottom. And only then can you work your way back up. You have to take away all the excuses, all the bullshit. You have to get rid of the "It’s-my-birthday-It's Thanksgiving-Its-Martin-Luther King-day-I- can-have-some cake" mentality. No, you can't. You just have to admit you feel like shit and then let the emotion sink in. That’s right, feel it. I don’t like feeling bad. But it is part of being human. You get to feel good sometimes and then sometimes you get to feel really fucking bad.

But isn't it bad to feel bad? No. Feeling bad is good. If you can find out why you are feeling bad you can try and change it. That means you’re alive, you're feeling things asshole.

After you´ve made the decision that you are too mushy and need to stop stuffing your face with shit food, the most important thing is this:
DONT EAT SHIT FOOD! Cut out of your life for good the following: white flour, sugars and anything fried. In fact, don’t eat any carbs or sugars - that includes carrots, corn and fruit - for two weeks. No soda or juice, just water. Have one cup of coffee in the morning and that’s it. Wake up and have cottage cheese and egg whites with some ham. For lunch, have a salad or a soup with no bread or noodles. No cream soups either. Just broths with veggies and/or meat. For dinner, have chicken or beef with veggies and salad and, if necessary, light dressing. You should really get “light” everything. For in between snacks, have cheese sticks or a fist full of almonds. And if you really get a sugar craving, one scoop of light peanut butter will take away the hunger pains. The best way to go about a new way of eating is to seek a pro that knows what to eat and why you should eat it. A nutritionist will also give you the right protein you should be drinking during the day and at night so your body doesn’t go into fat storing mode. That’s right. If you work out hard and go to bed hungry, your body thinks its starving and starts to store fat and eats muscle. What you want to do is eat so much good food and the right portions of it that your body is always burning fat to repair the muscle you just tore up at the gym. Your body becomes a furnace. So seek a pro to help you. The money you spend on a pro probably adds up to one day of stuffing your fat face with goodies. You do the math.

The next thing I had to do was simplify my life. I got it down to focusing on three things:

• 1 – Creativity - I’m a comic so my job is being creative. But this can be different for each person, whatever pays your bills. It’s important to focus on what you chose to do in life and do it well. I don’t care if you work at Subway.


• 2 - My mind - I go to see a therapist once a week. And I talk to my shitty friends about all the bullshit in my life. You have to verbalize your pain with someone. You have to get it out. Ask for help if you need it.


• 3 - My physical well-being – That means eating right and going to the gym.
  

So that is a summary of what you need to do. Or should I say, that´s how I did it. I simplified my life.

Just know you have to work to make money, to pay bills. The other free time you have is yours to do with it what you want. You can watch TV, play video games, sleep, jerk off or all of the above.

But none of those tasks will help you lose weight. I’m not saying you have to cut those things out of your life. I still do all of them in that order, pretty much every day. You just have to cut them down a little and not let them keep you from focusing on the important things.

Just think about it. If you take out one hour of TV time from your day and go to the gym instead, you will lose weight. I know what you´re saying. “I have to get there. I have to change into gym clothes when I get there. I have to get back from the gym. That’s like three hours. It takes so fucking long to go to the gym and work out. I don’t have the time.” You´re right. And that was one of the things that fucked me up. I didn’t think I had time to work out. I hated going to the gym. Not the gym itself. But getting to the gym was the motherfucker. But after I worked out I felt fucking great.
So here is what I did to make it easy to work out.
You’re going to need to go shopping. And if you’re an addict like me that should make you feel good. You get to fill the hole with some new shit. So here are some things you need to get to make going to the gym easier:

• 
  1. gym bag (You should keep this packed with all of your work out shit so you can just grab it and leave.)


• 2. lock - something you can attach right to your bag so you don’t forget it. I even went a step further and got a lock that goes right on my keys. You´re not locking up gold bars and diamond’s so you don’t need anything to hefty, just something to deter someone from breaking into your locker.


• 
  3. gym clothes -five shirts, three pairs of shorts. Use shirts that you don’t wear anymore that are big on you. Don’t wear something tight to the gym. There are mirrors all over every gym and the whole time you will be looking at yourself and feeling like a big pile of shit. Wear something loose fitting so you cant see all your fat wile you´re working out. Get a few pairs of shorts that will fit under your jeans. Not some bulky shit but shorts you feel comfortable in but that you can wear under your pants so you can just take your jeans off and be ready to go. Saving that one step of taking off my pants and putting on shorts and repeating the same when I left saved time and energy for me. And I don’t have a huge cock so I didn’t have to be naked in the locker room.


• 
  4. water bottle - You have to hydrate. Most of us drink coffee all day and eat a lot of salt. If you´re not sweating you´re not hydrated enough. So have that water bottle and keep drinking water.


• 
  5. work-out gloves - These are very important to me. They keep my hands from getting all fucked up. And they give me a better grip, which makes me feel stronger. I put these on during weight training only. If you wear these during cardio you are an asshole and should be shot. It’s like those fat guys who ride ten speeds in New York but they have the whole regalia on like they just cycled the tour du France.


• 
  6. cheap headphones - so you can watch TV or listen to music at the gym. I love TV and could watch TV all day, every day for the rest of my life. But going to the gym sucked because I would be in my own head the whole time I was on a machine. Then I thought, “Oh wait. I could put headphones on and watch some of my favorite shows, like Ellen, while I’m working out.” Problem solved. I suggest some news shows too. That way you can get some smarts while you´re working out. Lord knows I need some smarts, tee hee.


• 
  7. toiletries (deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, baby wipes)
  You need help. No one can do this on their own. I´m not saying that you won´t go to the gym by yourself. You will and it will suck for the first few months. But you need as many people as you can get to know what you are trying to do. They can help motivate you when you are feeling weak. I had people I could call when I was sitting outside the gym thinking of ten billion reasons why I didn´t have to work out that day. Call your chick or your friend and tell them, “ I fucking don’t want to go.” And hopefully they will tell you to get your ass in there and do a little, even if it´s just thirty minutes. And usually, once you’re in there, your energy kicks in and you do more than you thought you could do.

The next thing is you have to know what you are doing in the gym. The one thing that would fuck me up is I didn’t know how to use the equipment, or how many reps to do, or how much weight to put on. This is where, again, you need a pro. I went to a good friend of mine who is available to anyone who reads this. This person put me on track to lose weight. Knowing what you are doing in the gym helps you get out of there faster and makes you feel less insecure.

Also there were a lot of things I was doing wrong. I was working my ass off and I lost like twenty pounds and then it all stopped. But I was still working my ass off with little or no results. That’s when I got in touch with MJ, a fucking pro.
I’m going to let her talk a little right now and you can use her as I did to help you. She put together a new diet for me with protein drinks and vitamins. And told me when to eat, how much to eat. And she gave me a whole different weight-training program that I didn’t believe was going to work because it was actually easier than the one I was doing. But it did. And it is still working for me.

Enter MJ Kovaleski, USBF Figure Pro Competitor and Fitness model.

Bob is so right when it comes to DOING IT RIGHT! There is no cookie cutter diet out there and there is no cookie cutter-training program. Just like snowflakes, each of our bodies are different. So the people who go on cookie cutter fad diets, ALWAYS FAIL. People who follow someone they see at the gym or do what their buddies told them to do ALWAYS FAIL.

Did you know that your blood type plays a HUGE role in how successful your diet is? Did you know that there are 15 basic questions that you can answer to determine what your body type is? Not everyone will respond to low weight/high reps. Not everyone will respond to high weight/low reps. Not everyone will respond to short breaks between sets and some people actually store excess fat by doing TOO much cardio.

Bob had the majority of it figured out. He had the vehicle. He just needed direction and the fuel to get to where he wanted to go.

We needed to determine what the appropriate diet was for BOB. Not the diet for me, or you, or for Joe Blow down the street. Bob needed his own special diet based on his lifestyle. So do you.
Bob was also training incorrectly. Not just screwing up some of the actual movements but the weights he lifted and the amount of reps he did.
This isn't easy. Trust me, I know. I've lived it. I've spent countless hours of research and obviously, countless hours of training and dieting.

Go ahead, say what I've heard a million times, "Yeah, but MJ, you're at a different level than me. You're a professional competitor..."

Blah, blah, blah.

That's right. I am a Pro. I wasn't always. I had to start somewhere and just like Bob I had to work my ass off to get here and make the same sacrifices Bob does every day. If you need an electrician, you're not going to call your dumb Polack friend next door to come rewire your house. You're going to call someone who knows what they're doing and how to fix what's broken. You need a PRO. If you're going to spend the time and make the sacrifices, shouldn't you do it right?

One more thing before I end this. It helped me to think in these terms so it might help you.

You have to take the time limit shit out of your head. I’m going to do this diet for two weeks. Or I’m going to work out for a month with a trainer friend of mine. YOU WILL BE FAT AGAIN AND FAIL.

Look . I quit drinking and using drugs 24 years ago and the only thing that got me through it was talking about how hard it was with someone who was going through the same thing. One simple phrase, one day at a time. Fuck yesterday and tomorrow because you have no control over either one. You can do it today. You can’t be looking two months down the road because chances are you will look and feel better in two months. And then you might stop and slowly put the weight back on. Then you´d have to do this shit all over again. Or you might just get discouraged because it´s not happening fast enough for you and just say FUCK IT! But if you just make the decision that this is the way you´re going to eat from now on. And that you are going to go to the gym and do something for the rest of your life, however long that is, then you will lose weight. It took me over a year before I started getting compliments. I was getting smashed for being fat the whole time I was really busting my ass to lose weight. But I had no choice. This was who I was now. I ate well and worked out. Not for the compliments but for myself. Now I’m not there yet and it is even harder when you’re in spitting distance of being the weight you want to be. And I have slipped up a few times. And you will too. But keep it moving. Get help from your friends and go to the gym, even if it’s for twenty minutes. And you will see results. Trust me. So that’s what I did for the last year to lose weight. I wrote this whole blog for me really to get some of it out. But I thought maybe it might help one of you fatsos out there. If you have any questions, don’t ask me. I still have twenty pounds to go. And I’m very busy trying to become famous. Just kidding. You can email me at rkfan@robertkellylive.com. But get a pro and Stop stuffing your face. And fuck everyone. Because nobody cares about you, except you. Believe that!!

Blog on Blog

colin quinn

I didn’t know what my next blog was going to be about. I had been sitting there thinking about it for the past week. I had just come back from a fucking crazy trip to Iraq and I was so whipped up to write a blog about it. And then my friend Jordy over there at myspace did me a solid and featured my blog on their comedy page. And I just sat back waiting for the blog comments and accolades to come in. I was checking my myspace everyday, like every fucking hour. Who am I kidding? Ok every five minutes. I was checking my myspace waiting for a comment from someone at CNN saying something like, “Hi, my name is Daniel Keller, head editor of CNN online. And I just want to say I have read many blogs on Iraq and you got it. I sent the link to a friend of mine. You may have heard of him, Larry King, and he loved it. He would like to have you on his show, Larry King Live, to talk about your time over there. Would this be something you would be interested in? Let me know.”

It never happened. I don’t think my myspace was working right. I think it was busted. Or maybe no one really liked it. That’s the problem with having a shitty child hood. If my step father Billy Manchington could have told me just a few times, “You’re a really strong, good, smart person and you can do anything you want in life”, and followed up with a huge hug instead of, “Shut the fuck up you dumb shit head cause that’s all you will ever be,” followed by a smack to the head, maybe I would be able to just write something and move on to the next thing and not care what people think about it. I’m not saying that I wrote that last blog so that people would throw me a parade. I’m just saying being on comedy myspace for a week I thought a lot more people would find their way to to my blog and write me and tell me how much they enjoyed it. Or maybe they just didn’t enjoy it. At least that’s what my friend, the legend, Colin Quinn thinks. I think his words were, “ That blog had the humanity of a police blotter”. He said the tone resembled something of a six year olds account of his summer vacation, “And then I went to Vegas. And then I went to Iraq. And then I went in a helicopter. And then I went home. And then I felt good. “ Thats what he said, word for word. I guess I didn’t put enough details in it for him. Like how flying in the black hawk helicopter with the doors open made me feel somewhat invincible. I could remember as a child playing on the swing feeling the same invincibility, as my friend was pushing me harder and harder faster and faster closer to going clean over the swing set. But I didn’t care then. I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. I new it would be ok because this was what I was supposed to be doing at that very second in my life. It felt right being in that helicopter hanging out the window going 100 miles per hour over the pink dessert sand. Knowing that I would be landing to do what I do best, make America laugh. Maybe I should have explained that a little better. No! You know what? FUUUCCKK HIM!

Now don’t get me wrong; he has a point. And that’s why I love my friends. Because they’re honest with me 100 percent of the time, almost too much. Which leads me to the subject of my next blog: my shitty, although bluntly honest, friends. To be fair, I did start the whole Iraq blog out by saying I’m not a writer. (Which, by the way, was the only part my pal Colin liked) And here I am writing a new blog about the old blog. That says it all right there. I just want to be liked. I want to find some way to reach out to as many people as I can so they can tell me, “Wow, Robert you’re awesome.” I don’t think I’m alone in this desire. I think that’s why everyone creates to begin with. There was some point in my life when everything around me sucked and then I did something creative and I got praise for it. I remember what the exact moment was like for me. I was in second grade. My teacher, Ms. Julian, was kind of a bitch. Hated most things, but she loved art. It was like she turned into a different person when she taught art class. In second grade, you had one teacher for all your classes. There was no switching around classroom to classroom, teacher to teacher. You had that one teacher for the whole year. And if she didn’t like you that whole year was going to suck. And the beginning of second grade was going to suck for me because, you guessed it, Ms Julian did not like me. But one day she gave us this art assignment. We had to draw an animal of our choice. I was excited about this kind of homework. It was so much better than fucking history, which as I would find out later in life, was pretty much all bullshit. Well not all bullshit but they left a few things out. Like maybe the part about black people existing prior to 1970. And Indians getting raped and killed for their land, shit like that. Like instead of a cornucopia we put on the thanksgiving table , why not have an Indians severed head drinking a jug of rice whisky. That would have been a little more historically accurate. Anywho, I digress.

I got home and started on my dog drawing. My mother saw what I was doing and came over to lend a hand. My mother was a very creative person herself. She might have been an artist or something. But she got knocked up at 15 with my sister so that big old bucket of old placenta juice put out that fire. She had to get a job and take care of my sister. Now if I were doing math homework she would have left me alone. There has been no record of any kid showing off a well-done math paper and people crowding around it with amazement. “Wow! Did you do that yourself? I love the plus and minus signs and the way they are perfectly in line with one another!” But you draw or paint something half decent and people love looking at it. How many times have you seen someone painting on the street and you have to walk by and see if they’re any good? Most of the time they suck and they’re just going through a mid- life crisis. But its still cool to see someone being creative. Now me and my mom are both sitting there together. Which to me was amazing. My mom never had time to sit with me. I was always alone. But now, I had found something that got me attention.

(Cut to 37 years later me out side the comedy cellar after a show getting compliments from strangers about how funny I was. )

So me and my mother drew this dog. It was a Great Dane. It came out fucking unbelievable. It looked like a real artist drew it. Definitely not a second grader. I brought it in to class the next day and Ms Julian flipped out. I instantly became her favorite student. She took me class to class to show me off like her little fake prodigy to all the other students and teachers. It was amazing. I went from being the dumb shit to the star pupil in one day because of one stupid dog drawing. I was a superstar. My whole inner feeling about myself changed. I felt proud, confident and most of all happy. Wow, what a thing to learn at such a young age: If you make other people happy you can feel happy. Sound familliar? I would go on for the next 30 years doing the same thing over and over. So let me get this straight. If other people like you, you feel good? You don’t have to learn to like yourself. Just get other people to like you and it feels just as good even if its only temporary? It was still easier than learning to like myself which at that age was a concept I had no idea even existed. That would have been my parents job to teach me. Instead I was taught to draw a fucking dog and hope people liked it.

Years later, on my way to college to pursue a degree in fine arts I found that dog drawing. And I also found out that my mother had done most of the drawing. Sure I had colored inside the lines a little but my mom did 90% of the drawing that I had based my whole artistic career on. Here I was headed to art school based on a drawing I never did!! Based on forgery. I was never that good to begin with. It was me trying to do something that felt good based on what other people thought. I later took an improv class and then did a talent show which eventually led me to explore stand-up comedy. And again, for the first 15 years I did it for the praise. For me, only in the last three years have I started trying to be as honest as I can and not care as much about what other people think. I think it’s only at that point that you are a real good stand up or, for that matter, a good creative anything. The day you just do it and not think about how it’s going to be received or if people will like it. Some people just start off that way doing what they think is good. Some people have to learn that. Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t want people to like what you do. You should. But it shouldn’t be the foundation of your creative process. There are always going to be people who hate what you do for no reason what so ever. (And all those people should die speedily of Brazilian AIDS.) But those peopl shouldn’t stop you from doing what you want. You never know where anything is going to lead you. In some fucked up way, my mom drawing that dog for me led me to doing stand up. And stand up led me to writing this blog so there you go.

It’s 4 AM. I have to film another episode of Law and Order tomorrow (shameless plug) and I’m up trying to explain my old blog. Just one hug and some words of encouragement from my shitty step- father Billy and maybe I would be writing about the political landscape and how it affects our country. Maybe, I wouldn’t be trying to justify what a low self esteemed cunt I am.

Thanks Billy. No, really, thank you for being such an abusive fuckface. I would be were I am today.

ONE DESERT TO ANOTHER

I haven't written a blog in a long time and I am truly sorry for that. Its just the way my brain works. I get into these great moments of letting my life poor out of me and then it just stops. I know good writers, which I'm not claiming to be, just push through that point and keep writing until something valid comes out. I just say fuck it, and go play video games or watch TV for the next two years. Well, here I am after playing video games and watching everything there is to watch. I am at a point where I am ready to release my thoughts again.

Another thing that makes it very difficult to keep up the writing is that I have no idea how to write. I mean, I know what I want to say. I just don't know how to put a sentence together, or how to spell. Some people take for granted that they went to school and learned the basics. I never did. I was pushed right through, even my two years in college. I think they were happy I wasn't flipping out and causing trouble in school, so they just let me slide on through. Which, at the time was fucking awesome but now, later in life fucking blows for me. I really enjoy writing, it just gets very frustrating at times knowing that it makes sense in my head, but when I put it on paper the people reading it get dizzy with my stupidity.

Where to start is always the fucking hardest part about writing a blog. What the fuck do I want to talk about? And then, what the fuck would be interesting for people to read? You always want to be interesting and have people like you. Or that's what my low self- esteem keeps saying to me. Well the answer, and any writer will tell you, just write. Easier said that done. When I just write, I go from really cool thoughts and stories, to all the people I hate, and explaining shit that really doesn't need to be explained. Kinda what I just did. So here it goes.

What I'm going to write about is the last two weeks in my life. Seeing that I haven't been able to get back on a regular sleep schedule, because of what I did. Sometimes in life you do something or go somewhere so amazing it seems like a dream. Like it never happened. Some people compare it to getting into a fight. Ya see, when you get into a fight everything is heightened. Your energy, your senses, and your adrenaline. It just happens and it's over. For the average person, it's like, what just happened? I'm sure with those badass UFC fighters, getting into a fight everything just slows down. And they enjoy every punch in the face. Like it was a hot chick unzipping your jeans with a I'm really going to suck your cock smile. But, for me it was like a dream.

To tell you the short story, like I told my therapist when he asked me, what's been going on the last couple of weeks. You mean, going to LA, hanging out with my friends all night, goofing off and then getting a private jet, flying to Vegas, staying in the top floor penthouse of Caesars, doing shows for four thousand people a night, getting paid a shit load of money for telling jokes, having my own body guards, and then finding out my wife's mother passed away, and then flying to Iraq, doing shows at a soccer stadium that Saddam killed his whole soccer team in for losing a soccer game, and then doing a show for 80 troops at 9 in the morning in 120 degree heat, and flying around on Black Hawk helicopters, getting in an Apache helicopter, and a one A Abrams tank, driving a PT boat round the Persian GULF, sleeping three hours a day for two weeks. Besides that, not much!


Ok, Vegas.
I did this gig last year, with Dane, Gary, and Jay Davis, but this time it was very different. It was going to be Dane, Al DelBene and me. Some of you may not know that Dane, Al and me started together in a little group called "Al and the Monkeys". And we haven't been on stage together, or on the same show in 13 years. A little back story. We would all meet four to five times a week, for two years, to write skits and practice our routine. We were inseparable for three years, and then it was over. Dane was gone to LA, I left for NYC, and Al did his thing. Now, we were all on a leer jet heading to Vegas to do three shows at Caesars Palace together. We got to Vegas, there was a team of SUVs waiting for us to take us to the hotel, like we had important information for the president.

Ok, lets talk about the penthouse at Caesars.
It's the whole top floor. Ok, it's most of the top floor, but for the story it was the WHOLE top floor. My room had the bedroom part, a living room part, and two, count them, two bathrooms, with cedar closets, a sauna and steam room and a huge Jacuzzi. There is a balcony with a swimming pool and Jacuzzi. Dane's room was like something out of "Scarface". Al's room was, well it was just a regular room, sorry Al. We had a piano room, a living room, and a full bar, not that any of us drink. We had a 20 person table, a fully equipped kitchen, a 24 hour butler, a 24 hour security guard and our own elevator. Oh yeah, I forgot, our fountain in the living room. It was fucking ridiculous. The best part, it was right across from the place we were playing. I love when the gig is in the same place I rest my head. There is just something soothing to me, knowing I don't have to leave the building to get to my show. At 7:15 two, huge security guards would come up and get us, walk us across the casino floor to the back stage door and to the green room. I have to say, the last time I played this gig with Dane it was a lot different. It was when they were doing "Comic Relief", and the stage was a lot bigger. This time they had it right. The stage was smaller and more intimate. The place holds about four thousand people, but it seemed like you were playing a small club, they way they set up the stage. It was different in another way too. I was less known back then. Now, I could walk around the casino and people would know who the fuck I was. Before, I would be hanging with Dane and I looked like one of his assistants. I fucking hate that. Now at least they knew I was on the show, and who the fuck I was. I can't wait to do my own show at Caesars. But, I really loved doing the show with Dane and Al. Being by yourself on a show is cool, and is the goal of every comedian to have everyone there to see you, to be the headliner and make all that money. But that can get very lonely sometimes. Doing the show with your friends takes a lot of the pressure off your shoulders. Your kinda just hanging out, and "Oh yeah, we have a show tonight that we are all on, fuck yeaaaaaah!!! All the shows went great. All of the meet and greets after the shows went great. I have to say, I get asked, "What was the best show you ever did?" I have the answer to that question now. VEGAS, CAESARS PALACE, SUMMER 2008.

Now, after all that crazy, top of the world living. Having a butler come out of some hidden room, like a magician, at three in the morning, to bring you snacks. Taking a Jacuzzi, in the middle of the night, on your hotel balcony, over-looking the whole strip. After taking a shit in one toilet in my room and running across the hall to my other toilet, to take a piss. We were headed to a totally different desert. One, you would be lucky if you get a shower with water that you can swallow. One, that there were no butlers, no Jacuzzi's and no elevators. A desert where I had to walk outside, down the road with a flashlight to take a shit. But a desert, I would take over Vegas and all its hoorah, any day of the week. Me, and the boys jumped on a plane, went over and gave a visit to our men and women in the United States Military. That's right, we went to fucking Babylon baby, Iraq!

I'm sitting here writing this in some downtown, West Village, trendy, internet café, and it's hard to believe it all happened. It's like it was a dream, or a movie I saw at three in the morning that was fucking great, but I cant remember all of it. I know I went, but was it real? But it is all too real for the Americans who are still there. The ones that didn't get to go home after a week, like I did. They are still there dealing with that fucking ridiculous heat and never-ending sand that invades the back of your mouth the second you step outside. They are there doing there job. And that's what it is, a job. They get paid to stand up for America, around the world, no matter what. They are there still doing their job, and I'm here, enjoying a café Americano because of them.

We flew from LA to DC, and then from DC to Kuwait. You might remember that place. It's where it all started, back in the early 90's, with the first Bush. Well, their free and making fucking, shit loads of money from their oil, thanks to us. Did you know, if you bought a thousand dollars of their money back in the first war when there money was shit, you would be rich now? I don't know the details, but let's just say if you had a thousand American, that would have been a million of their money. Now it's switched, so that thousand you spent on their money would be worth a million, gazillion or something like that, I digress. We landed in Kuwait and were taken to the hotel to check in for the night. It's very westernized over there, they had a fucking Starbucks, granted you had to go by armed guards at the front gate of the hotel, but I got my Café Americano in Kuwait. We were all kinda tired, but way too excited to get rest. So we did as much as possible that first night. We swam in the most amazing pool I have ever been in, got on the internet and checked for the new Iphone updates and emails. Then, we got some dinner in the hotel restaurant, which was a huge wooden Spartan-like ship. Really, look it up if you don't believe me. I was little weary eating food out of the country again after Guatemala, and having my ass explode like it did. But the food wasn't that bad. It wasn't as good as the states. I think other countries make great bread, but that's as far as I would go. Then again, I have only been to third world countries and war zones, so what the fuck do I know. I'm no Anthony Bordain, who I love by the way. Anyhow, after me and my buddy Brian got our coffee. You might know Brian, he was the guy that I threw his hat off Niagara Falls on "Tourgasm". I think he is still mad at me for that. We got picked up by a shit load of big mother fuckers in civilian clothes. So they must be something other than military, because soldiers only have their uniforms on the whole time they're over there. No jeans and t-shirts. Imagine that, just wearing the same fucking thing for a year. Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk that! I need shirts that sparkle. God, I'm a fag. Now, Kuwait and Iraq have American bases we have made. You can't just drive on one, they are patrolled and fortified, so it takes a little bit to get in. But once you're in, you feel safe. Just looking around and seeing all these people dressed in uniform, carrying weapons. Don't say guns, they hate that. I kept saying gun, gun, gun, like I had a long tongue, and a Mo hair cut, it's a weapon.
We would get on these bases and usually meet the top dog in charge. He would sit down and tell us what they did at that particular base. Every base has a different responsibility and objective. After that, we would do a photo shoot. Where I would just hope they knew who I was and included me. At least, Al looks like a comic, with his moussed hair and skinny fat body, and his middle-aged soap opera star teeth. I look like a Black Water special ops guy, who loves to eat ice cream when he is not killing mother fuckers. After that we would go to where the show was, and have a few minutes to get our shit together. We didn't know if the show was outside, inside, stage, mic, nothing. We just showed up and got ready to jump on stage.

The first show we did, I will never forget. It was around 120 out. I was inside this air-conditioned tent, waiting for Al to bring me on stage. I really had no idea what kinda set this was going to be. I heard him say my name, I walk out of that air-conditioned tent and on the hottest 20 minute set I have ever done, and I don't mean material wise. I could hear the heat, really, there was a fucking sound of just hotness. Everything was in slow motion. I could feel the balls of my cheeks getting burnt, by the second. And at one point, my feet started to catch on fire. I was wearing black sneakers and the tips of my toes felt like someone was using a magnifying glass to burn them. I had to keep picking my feet up and down just to get my feet out of the sun, even for a second. I must have looked like someone was controlling me with strings, picking my feet up and down like a fucking marionette. Halfway through my set, I told the soldiers my feet were on fire and one of them yelled out…" That's cause your wearing black sneakers jackass". I got off stage, walked by Dane and just said, "its fucking hot dude" and then I went and put some sunblock on.

We did two to three shows a day, for the week we were there. We only got our schedule that day or the night before from Dana, the USO girl that took care of us that week. There are a lot of things that happened over there and we filmed a lot of it. I don't wont to ruin the surprise if they make a short doc out of it. You know Dane, he is always thinking how to put new content out there. I would just make some shitty video blog made in Imovie, that only ten people would enjoy. Dane hires Steven Spielberg and Bruckheimer to put it together and wins an Emmy. So you will just have to wait to hear all of it. It's not really the things we did over there that were fun, like flying in the helicopter. That would be great to talk about. It was really about the handshakes from the soldiers after the show. When they tell you how much it means to them that we came over to see them. It's about how they would all cram into whatever space they put the show in. It didn't matter if the show was outside in the blazing heat at 9am, where they would climb sandbags just to stand atop a tin roof, so they could get a better seat for the show. Or, if the show was in a small courtyard with no seats and no sound system, like they were being briefed on their next patrol. It didn't matter, they just wanted to see the show and forget about where they were for a couple of hours. I felt kinda guilty for having so much fun over there. We go there and they let us do things that the average Joe doesn't get to do. Shoot guns, fly in Black Hawk helicopters, drive around the Persian Gulf in PT boats, get inside Apache's and A1A Abrams tanks. But, that's not why I went there. I went there for the handshake, not getting one, but to give a handshake. To shake as many hands that I could, and say thank you for doing what you do. I don't know how I feel about the war. Was it right or was it wrong for us to go into Iraq? I don't know. The thing I do know is that we did and we are over there. And that most of the Iraqi people are happy Saddam is gone. So, I have to be behind them, the soldiers that put their lives on the line everyday because its part of their job. People ask me, how was it over there? I try to explain, but it's a hard thing to do. Its not like I went there for vacation. I was going 90 miles and hour, every second. I was there doing things most people don't ever do. Meeting so many different people everyday. Really, our country is made up of so many different countries. I remember looking at people's face and head shapes. There were thin heads, big heads, blue eyes, brown eyes, small noses, wide noses, light skinned, dark skinned, even the personalities were so fucking different. It's hard to put it into one sentence. In one way, it sucks seeing all these Americans in some dusty desert, just waiting to get home. In another way, it's amazing seeing how people come together to fight for something they believe in. I think only time will tell if we did the right thing. But I'm glad I can say I was apart of it. I went there, and did what I do, for the Troops. So, I guess I can put this whole experience into one sentence. Going to Iraq to do comedy for our troops was one of the most amazing things I have ever done in my life.

the NOT YOU!!! STORY

I wanted to tell the story of were NOT YOU! Came from.
It is a case of my two worlds colliding. In one hand I have all the college kids and fans that don’t know me from the O and A show. When they here someone yell. Your great not you! They don’t know what it means and think people are just being mean. And then you have people who know me from O and A who when they say not you are just showing there love for the show and me.
I will tell you the whole story so that everyone can be in on the joke.
This is the NOT YOU!!!! Story. AKA Jerry Seinfeld story.

Jerry had been coming down to the club to do spots and get ready for his up coming concert. He had a camera crew with him at all times. They were filming the movie comedian at the same time. Needless to say there were a lot of comics trying to get in on the action. Sitting down near him trying to strike up conversations get a little airtime if you know what I mean. I never wanted to do that. Anytime someone famous comes down I try and stay away from the back table. I don’t want to come over and sit down and feel like I have to say something because a legend in the biz is there. If we strike up a conversation and its organic, cool, if not fuck’em. Robin Williams came to the club one night and talked to me. Now if I see him there I feel like I could say hi with out feeling like an open mic jack off kiss ass. Robin is a really nice guy. I have even talked to him a couple of times since then. I don’t want to force a conversation with someone because of who they are in the biz. I’m there trying to get better on stage so I can be were they are at some point.
But one night Jerry and his film crew were there I was yapping to all the other comics about some sports trivia. I was making bets about if Gretski was on the ranger’s team that won the Stanley cup. I was saying he was, and everyone else was saying he wasn’t. I was taking dollar bets from everyone. That’s when jerry chimed in and said I’ll take some of that action. I turned around and saw he was talking to me. So I said ok and took bets from him and all three of his camera crew. We chatted a little more about it and that was it. But in my delusional mind I took that as, hey we broke the ice organically now I could talk to him with out feeling like a kiss ass. Boy was I wrong.
The next day I had to fly out for a two-day road gig. I don’t remember were the first gig was but it was in the middle of no were. The next gig was in between Buffalo New York and Rochester New York. I was supposed to fly in to New York City the night before and then drive to the gig. That didn’t work out so well. My plane was delayed in hot lanta for three hours and when we finally got on the plane I fell a sleep for two hours and woke up back in Atlanta. I had to get a hotel and take the first flight out in the morning. But now I had to fly strait to Buffalo New York. This gig was turning out to be a hell gig. I got on the plane the next morning and flew to Buffalo. When I got there the school said they would not pick me up or pay for a car. So now I had to pay out of my own pocket $125 each way to have a care service get me to this gig. I was pissed. But now I was determined to do this show. My agent hired this care service to pick me up. I came out of baggage claim and there was this guy holding up a sing with my dame on it. He looked like the guy from the Pringles box. He says, are you Robert? I said yes, Ok good lets go. And then rushed me out of the airport. I was looking for a limo of some sorts but no it was a 1985 party van with captain’s chairs and VCR and TV in the back. We get in and he puts these headphones on and just starts laughing. I look up and it The Seinfeld show is on. Then I look to my left and there is every Seinfeld episode on VHS tape. He drives around all day picking people up and listens to the show and laughs like a lunatic. So I put the headphones on and joined this crazy man in his hijinks. We had an hour ride to the show and then two more hours to kill once we got there. I was hungry so I asked this jerry nut if he wanted to stop and get some lunch. He said yes so we went into this nice restaurant and sat down. He started telling me about how much he loved Jerry and the show. And how he wanted to do stand up and give it a try. The weird thing is he kept calling me jerry. I kept telling him my name is bob to which he replied I know I just love Jerry. After lunch we went to this show.
Now in comedy there are three things that tell you if the show is going to suck.
1 Out side shows
2 After noon shows
And 3 after any bands or before any bands. Music and comedy don’t mix. Never have and never will. But that won’t stop these morons from booking bands and comics together. And it won’t stop comics from prostituting them selves out for large sums of money to do these shows.
Now my show that I was about to do was out side, in the rain, under a ten, after a band, during a beer fest next to a sky diving simulator. This was the worst show ever. The band killed with there rock and roll then they brought me right up. As soon as I hit the stage it started down pouring. So all the drunken kids ran under the tent across from me, which was a half a football field away. I was on a stage under a tent so I had to bend down to do my show so people could see me. Guys were just walking by with funnels screaming FUNNELSSSSS. HA HA HA. And then they would move on. And every two minutes there would be a jet engine sound and a kid flying through the air right next to the stage on the sky diving simulator. I don’t know how but I made it through this gig. The guy pulled the Van right up to the stage like the A team and through me in the Van. I had an hour and a half to make my plane. I was getting the fuck out of dodge. The hole way back he kept asking me if I could get him an autograph from jerry. Now in my head I thought sure I met him the other night we talked he would love this story about the worst gig ever. I really thought he would sit me down at one of the tables at the cellar and make me tell everyone this crazy hell gig story. And we would become great friends and I would get with his management and I would make a short movie with him about this. And get my own show under his production company. I really am a shit head come to think of it.
So the next night I come into the cellar and I see that Jerry is on stage. I go down stairs with his buck from the bet he won. No Gretsky was not on the rangers when they one the cup. So I had this great story to tell my new friend Jerry Seinfeld. I waited by the door for him to come out. As he did with tons of people behind him I said hey here is your buck and held it out for him to grab. He looked at me like who are you. I told him you won that bet Gretsky wasn’t on the rangers. He then grabbed the buck and was about to go up the stairs when I said. But I have a story to tell you first. He said you want your buck back.
I was crushed. What a dick. I said no forget it. He walked up two or three stairs and turned back and said. Hey I will be at the back table when your done come up and sit with me we get some food or something. A huge smile came over my face and I said. You got man I will be up right after I do my set I’ll come up when I’m done and we’ll talk and get some food. That’s when he looked at me and said those words. NOT YOU!!!
He was talking to the lady next to me. The whole room got quiet and the lady he was talking to just looked at me like sorry looser he was talking to me. Jerry just walked up the stairs never to say another world to me again.
So there it is the NOT YOU!! Story I hope you get a kick out of my pain. I tell you these things so I don’t have to carry it around with me myself. So when someone in the crowd yells out not you their not being dicks they’re telling me they liked the story and there glad I shared my pain. And maybe when some one gives them a not you in there life, they can laugh and think of my dumb fat ass.

Robert Kelly

TOURGASM-THEGOOD-THE BAD- AND THE UGLY

Well tourgasm is over. Holly shit what a month. I don’t know were to begin.
When Dane first called me about this I really didn’t know if this thing
would happen. It sounded to good to be true. It did happen and now its over
and it seemed like it was another life time ago, but it just ended a few
weeks ago. Doing twenty schools in thirty days on a tour bus recording all
of it on tape. It was fucking crazy. There were a lot of good times and a
lot of fucking headaches. Most of you think four comics on the road doing
shows wow what a blast. What most of you don’t under stand is that comics
for the most part are fucked up. That’s how we do what we do. We get on
stage and say the shit about our self’s and other people that most people
try not to think about never mind talk about in front of thousands of people
that don’t know you. We have ego’s, insecurity’s, addictions, major fucking
problems. But most of all we are loners. This whole thing is about you alone
getting up on stage by yourself. You write all your shit no one really helps
you. We have friends but we don’t see them everyday like regular friends do.
We don’t talk to each other everyday like regular friends do. This business
is weird like that. I might see you everyday for a month because we are
doing a gig together and then not see them for months or years. But there
are no grudges or hatred involved. It’s just the way it is. We learn to
disconnect to survive. Just to set this up. Dane and me have been friends
since we started. Infact we started together. So I know him and he knows me
pretty well. We fought and argued back in the day, and we had some good ones
I must say. Gary and I we were great friends when we first met. But then he
went his way and I went mine. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t like each
other we knew we were just different people than we were back when we used to hang. Now I didn’t realize this until we spent a month together on a bus.
Now me and Jay Davis never really hung out. We have spent time together here
and there. And we have been cool with each other. Jay will do anything for
you He is a nice guy. But He has a bag full of issues himself. You can be
the nicest guy on the planet and still fuck with people. Now I didn’t know
about Jay and he didn’t know about me. But we sure as hell found out about
each other on this trip. We fought from day one. He didn’t like me talking
about porn and sex. I didn’t like him judging me about shit
like that. Especially when you talk about getting laid and going to strip clubs yourself. You can’t throw your bible in my face and then try to get laid on that very same bible. I wouldn’t care if there were a priest on tour with us. I would still be me. Jay is a very sensitive guy. I’m not. And I forget sometimes that people don’t get busting balls. And that’s all I did to him was bust his balls. Joked around like comics do. But he didn’t get it, He thought I was fucking with him in a bad way. I hang out with the likes of
Colin Quinn, who said my grandmother must have been raped on the Khyber Pass
on national TV. I hang out with Jim Norton who calls me a dumb fatso at
least once a day, Patrice O’Neil who hangs up on me if I start talking about
how I feel. Now you might think this is mean but its not. I think as comics
you have to know your good and bad, and be ok with it. My mother once said
make fun of your self it takes the fun out of it for others. And she was
right. We all make fun of each other’s faults. We put them on the table and
talk about them. And then we bring them on the stage and talk about them to
you and you sit there and relate. There is nothing funnier than hearing
something you relate to. Hey I have a sex problem I have an eating problem I
hate certain things I love certain things. I’m Irish but I look like an
Iraqi. As comics we live in a constant state of awareness. We live in our
truth all day and talk about it at night on stage. Yes we enhance the truth
to make it funny. Did I really shit in my pants wile lying in bed with my
girl? YES ABSOLUTLY. Did she laugh at me? YES SHE DID. Is that real love? YES IT IS. Well ok maybe there is more to real love than shitting in your pants and her not leaving you, but you get my point. I had to pull back on Jay a lot during this trip. It’s not in my nature to hate someone. I could have just told him to fuck off and keep busting his balls and using my skills as a comic to treat him like a heckler. But that is not my nature. I pulled back from him and left him alone. I even treated him with a little more patience than I would any other person. I can be a dick and say things
sometimes that are over the top. I have a joke in my act about busting
balls. There is always that one friend who doesn’t know how to bust balls he
takes shit to far to fast. He just says stuff that don’t make sence it just
hurts. Hey dude your fat. Ya I heard your MOTHERS SICK.
She has loupis you dick. Well that guy is me. I’m the guy that say’s shit
that hurts. But I’m working on that. Now don’t get me wrong I wasn’t all to
blame jay has his shit to. He has ADD. He will come in and ask you ten
questions before you can answer one, and then leave like he didn’t even ask
anything. When jay is hungry he is a cunt. So you have to feed him. Believe it or not I got to know Jay on this trip more than anyone else. He is a
good kid at heart who wants to be a better stand up comic. He wants to
headline and he wants to be funnier than he is now. And I want the same
thing. I think all comics want that. So at the end of this him and I
learned how to get along. Now there were other fights and disagreements on
this trip but you will have to wait to see the DVD to get all the dirt. But
I just wanted to say it wasn’t all peaches and whip cream living on a bus
with three other comics being filmed all the time for a whole month.
Sometimes it was fucking hell.

This whole thing was a great experience for me. Most of these people didn’t
know who I was and now they do. Dane could have done this whole thing by
himself and filled just as many seats. But he wanted to get all of us
exposure. Also a documentary with just one comic wouldn’t have been as crazy
than with four very different comics. He wanted the show to be diverse. Jay,
the new guy trying to become better. Me the unknown they guy who hasn’t had
his big break yet. Is it going to come or many not. Gary the guy who had
fame and now trying to keep is popularity going by getting his face out
there and keeping it out there. And then there is Dane who wants to go to
the next level of fame himself. There is a ceiling at every level of fame.
Dane is known but not known. What I’m talking about is there is Dave Atell
and then there is Jim Carey. I’m not talking about their comedy I’m talking
about there fame. The only thing fame is good for is to get your shit out
there to more people. It was a great idea to film this thing. Even though it
was a little fucking annoying some times to always have a camera in your
face. But for the most part it was cool.
Now I know there are going to be things taken out of context when they edit
this thing. I know Dane doesn’t want to fuck with it and make it look like
something happen when it didn’t just for a storyline. That happens to me on
last comic standing. I went into that show knowing I wasn’t going to get on.
I’m too edgy; my jokes are not that TV friendly. So I said fuck it I’m going
to goof off and play with them. There were a bunch of comics I knew and
respected who were not being themselves. Every time that camera was on them
they would turn into some water down version of themselves. I wanted to be
the ass that I am. I was swearing being an ass the whole time. Now I made it
through two nights and the next phase was going to Vegas but I knew I was
not going. There was no way they were going to pick me. I told a few other
comics I didn’t think they were going to get picked either. So just start
swearing when they don’t pick you just say what the fuck over and over again
so they can’t cut to us looking like disappointed jackasses on TV. I was
talking on my phone while they were reading the results making fun of the
judges taken pictures. But when you saw the show they change everything that
happens. They took one shot of me listening to the judges and made it look
like I was waiting in fear to see if my name was going to be called. That
never happened. They took a hole other night and put it together with my night to make it look like I was going up against this girl for the last spot. That never happen. They never showed me talking on my phone, they never showed me fucking with the judges, and they never showed me yelling what the fuck at the end of the show. They just showed me looking like I thought I had a chance to win and I was angry that I didn’t. Luckily I had my camera on my and not only does it take great 3.2 mega pixels picture. It also takes great web movies. So I have the hole thing on video. Now I hope that’s not what happens on this documentary and I don’t think it will. Dane doesn’t want it to be a fake fantasy word. He wants what really happen out there for a month. And what really happen was not all fun and games. but I loved every second of it.

They day I hurt my knee were the first day we were all getting along. It was
a day of up near Niagara falls. We were parked at a camp site just chilled
for the day. We went to the falls for a wile it was pretty boring until I
threw the producer Brians hat off the falls it was great. I took it off
his head and pretended to throw it off as a goof. He then said to me were
you really going to throw it, I said no. That’s when he said I would have
done it. It didn’t take me but two seconds to grab his hat and toss it off
the falls. That’s when he chased me for twenty minutes trying to grab my hat
that someone made for me on the tour. He never caught me and never got my
hat. We made are way back to the camp site were had two luxury tour buses
waiting. It was going to be a great night. Jay and me were getting along
great. Brian the Producer and I were getting along great. Everything
was going great. We started throwing the football around. And then we got a
game going with the crew. They set up the cameras on tripods and there was
one roaming camera filming the game. We were playing on uneven grass and
gravel. The games was going great we were all playing hard and then it got
harder and harder and more serious. I called it quits to smoke a butt and
get out of the game. I was filming a little and getting all the guys some
water. That’s when Brian asked me to step in for him wile he went and check
on the fire for the BBQ we were suppose to have. That’s when it all went
wrong. I say that (when your somewhere and you're going to leave just leave)
When you stop doing something just stop, move on. Those are your initial
instincts and you should trust them. I didn’t and hear I am hopping around
on one leg and it sucks. I heard my leg crack two times. The sound was like
pealing Velcro apart. I went down like a sack of midgets. I thought I broke
my leg because of the sound. And the pain was so fucking bad I couldn’t take
it. I was screaming I broke my leg dude I broke my leg. I don’t know what
happened after that. I just remember being in the hospital waiting for the
doctor to look at my leg and give me some painkillers. I went from one of
the best days to the fucking worst day ever. I just didn’t want to be taken
off the tour. When we got back to the bus I was all doped up and ready for
bed. I felt bad for everyone else to. Me being hurt bumbed everyone else out
to. But it was going to happen, someone was going to get hurt on this trip.
Everything we did up to this point someone was getting hurt. When you see
the DVD you will know what I’m talking about. It just sucked that it had to
me. Not that I wanted anyone else to get hurt. But fuck what did it have to
be me. It was just another thing I had to deal with. The first couple of
shows sucked for me. I like to move around on stage. And Now I just had to
stand there like Henny Youngman, FUCK. The meet and greats after that were
hard on my because my leg would start to throb in pain about an hour in. And
there was nothing I could do just try and get comfortable. And the bus was
cramped with four other guys. So lying down and putting my foot up was out
of the question. But after a couple of days I learned what I could do and
what I couldn’t do.

All that happen on this tour was like it never happened its so surreal. It
seemed like it lasted forever and now that it’s over it went bye to quick.

People think we were just doing shows at night and having a party on the bus
till we got to the next show. That’s not what happen at all. We did shit all
day and then we did the show and after the show we did two and a half to
three hour meet and greats at all the shows. I loved the meet and greets
they were long for all of us especially for you guys waiting to meet us, but
I’m glad you did. People would come up and buy t-shirts or a tourgasm poster
for us to sign. But most of the kids just had a ticket stub they wanted
signed. It was funny they would feel bad that they didn’t have the money to
buy a poster or a t-shirt and all they had was a ticket stub. FUCK THAT you
waiting in line to get my signature. I have been waiting my whole career to
be good enough for someone to want my shitty Rk on a ticket stub. So don’t
feel bad about not buying a shirt you cheap prick. I would say that most of
the people waiting in line wanted to meet and get all of our signatures but
there were some that just wanted Danes. They didn’t like me for whatever
reason. Which is fine, its comedy, and taste in that is personal. There was
one cunt that said I don’t want that fat unfunny comedians signature and
then came up to me and had me sign her ticket. I was like hey what’s up you
ok. She just looked up and said ya. I was like your staring at me like you
want to stab me. She said no I’m ok, and put her ticket in front of me to
sign. Then after she left this guy that was behind her told me what she
said. Now I don’t care that she called me a fat unfunny comedian. My comics
friends say that to my on a daily basis. I just hate this spineless fucking
twat of life because she had me sign her ticket. You fuck smelly stink
wrinkle. You don’t have enough balls to just keep going, or say no thanks,
or say it to my face you skinny mess. Why would you have me sign your
ticket, because you felt bad for me, well Don’t twat. I make money at what I
love, and 99 percent of the people at that show loved my fat ass. Oh ya I
hope you hit a family of raccoons and kill all the baby’s raccoons and get
thrown from the car and the mother raccoon attack your head till your brain
dead. Which would take two to three seconds. And then when your drooling in
your wheelchair I will come buy with a sharpie and sign your face twelve
thousand times you whore. Ok I feel better. Did I take it to far?
Ok so for the most part anyone who didn’t want my signature just walked by
and said hi. Which is fine. But the meet and greet was my favorite part of
the tour. We got to meet all of you and say thanks for coming to the show. I
will say it again thanks for coming to the show. YOU ALL ROCK, even that
brain dead spineless skinny bitch.

The show is over now and we are all back to our own shit. I’m back in New
York. The other guys are back in La La land. I have talk to Jay a couple of
times but that’s it. I don’t talk to Gary but that’s just the way it is.
Dane and I have talked a bunch of times since the tour. But good and bad I
will never forget the month of April 2005. That’s when I went off on the
road with three other comics and a crew and had a blast. Like a rock and
roll band we crossed the country to make a bunch of motherfuckers laugh. I
hope we do this again. I don’t think it will happen but if it does I would
do it again in a heart beat. I just won’t play football next time.

TOURGASM APRIL 2005 its never been done before and it will never be done
like this again.

Robert Kelly

THE RETARDED SIX

I was in college just broke up with my first girl friend and my fourth foster father was kicking me out. I needed a job and a place to live. My now x girlfriend was nice enough to hook me up with an interview with the company she worked with. The job I was interviewing for was to live and work in a house with six other adult retarded men. The deal was if I got the job I get a room in the house free food and a hundred bucks a week. Hey as long as I didn’t have to wipe ass It sounded cool to me. And the house was on the beach in Winthrop Ma. It was a gray three family house. The company I worked for had the first two floors and there was a regular family who rented the third floor. I remember walking in for my interview there was this two hundred pound short blond hair lesbian who greeted me at the door. I already knew her. She was my ex girlfriends boss. I think she liked me and yes I mean sexually. She was the one who hooked this whole thing up and basically gave me the job. She was over weight with short hay colored hair and had moles all over her face and arms. She was not the most attractive women on the planet but she was one of the coolest on the planet. My boss boss was this little thin lady with a pot belly, greasy strait hair with greasy skin to match. She whore vintage close not to be fashionable but because those were the close her mother gave her to wear, I never saw her in anything new. Ever time she walked in the door the whole world would go black and white, it was like we were in the forties again. She was a mess to look at but not as bad as her mother who worked there on weekends. Her mother and her looked the same short, bad skin, greasy hair. But her mother had one more ugly super power than her daughter did, Her teeth. I don’t know if I can describe the fucking hideousness of this women’s teeth but I will try. Well for starters she couldn’t close her mouth with out using every muscle in her face. Did you ever see those fake redneck teeth they sell around Halloween time, those were her teeth exactly. The smell that came of these rotting bones hanging from her mouth would make you want to puke. There would be Windex next to every phone in the house on weekends because when she talked on the phone her fucking stank would stick to the phone like bad pussy to a finger. Did you ever smell really bad pussy. Well this was ten times worse than that. But it was coming out of her mouth. If you want to know what it smelled like get a snake and let it shit in your hand and smell it. That’s kind of what her breath smelled like. Now I’m not pulling my own chain but back then the lady’s loved me. I was in shape and looking good. And when I went in for this job I owned the room. These three ladies never had a cutie like me want to work there. I was young and in shape and would be living there. So the job was mine basically. The only question I had was, did I have to wipe ass. There was no way I was cleaning ass off an old retarded guy. She assured me I would never have to do this. These guy were called high functioning. Which meant they had jobs and did pretty much everything on there own. So off we went to meat the guys. I guess I was going to have lunch with them. There were six guys total in the house three down stairs and three up stairs. I would be living up stairswith those guys. We walked up to the second floor to meet the guys they were all in the kitchen getting lunch ready. The first guy I met was Barry. He was in his fifties with a big belly and brown hair and had a huge tong that would swaaaap in and out of his mouth like a monitor lizard every couple of seconds. Later when we got to know each other I would play the tong game with him. It’s kind of like the game when you hold your hands over your friends hands and try to smack them. Well we did this except with my finger and Barry’s tong. As we were watching TV I would slowly put my finger under his chin and he would try and snag my finger with his tong. If he could flick his tong out and snag my finger like an unsuspecting frog on a branch, he gets a point. If I could pull my finger away with out him touching it I get a point. He would win most of the time. And it would fucking grouse me out. Just looking at my finger with a nice coat of slime on it with some food chunks from a week ago would make me gag. But it was fun watching how He would chuckle in triumph every time he snatched my finger. Then there was Charlie I think he was in his sixty’s. He was very thin and his head would move all around the place like it wasn’t attached to the rest of his body. He had a very long neck to Sometimes his head would enter a room before the rest of his body. Then there was Billy, he was around five two with a black mullet. He had silver rings on every finger and a black concert t-shirt on. He looked like a head banger just retarded. We all sat down at the table for lunch. I think we were have veggie soup and peanut butter sandwiches. It was the first time I ever ate lunch with retarded guys before and let me tell you I almost puked. They were talking and there tongs were flapping in and out of there mouths. Food was flying every where. In my soup on my wrist it was like they were having a food fight with there mouths. I was on the verge of puking the hole time. But I knew I had to keep my shit together if I wanted this job. So I sat there and flicked pieces of wet PBj sandwiches off my wrist and face and plucked them out of my soup and smiled.. Lunch was over thank god and we went to meet the other guys.
The next guy I met was Pete he lived on the second floor with Barry and Charlie. Pete was a very quiet guy he didn’t say much to you, especially if he didn’t like you. And Pete sure didn’t like me. He looked almost like a regular dude except for that glaze in his stare when he looked at you. The next guy I met was Leo. he lived on the first floor. None of the other guys liked him because he was the least functioning of the house. Ya see the big thing with retarded people is that they are treated normal, just like anyone else. And for the most part they are except for the hole not being able to understand what the hell they are saying, there tongs swapping in and out of there mouths and no math skills. They all had jobs they dressed themselves and fed themselves. But Leo was the worst of the bunch and the other guys hated him. He was pretty annoying to be honest. He would repeat your name over and over and over. Hi bob how are you bob bobs here to wake me up hi bob I have to wake up bob bob bob bob bob is a nice guy bob likes me right bob. Bob bob bob bob bob bob bob. Ya I think that could get on your nerves. Then there was Ed. He was a big dude. He had a crazy head of gray hair and a big huge belly and a mustache. He ran the first floor he hated Leo the most because he made ED look bad. Leo would be late for the bus every morning and Ed would be ready an hour before the bus came. Hey that would piss me off to. But Ed didn’t like me at all. Before me there was all women working at this place and now there was another Alfa male in the house and someone had to be bitched out. I guess the last guy that worked there Ed chased around with a butcher knife and tried to kill him. Not knowing I would have my own knife experience with this big gorilla. My job was to be there from eleven at night to eight in the morning five days a week. The other days and hours I could do what I wanted. I just had to make sure ever one was up and off to work and then I could go back to bed. One morning I went down stairs and Ed was in a foul mood bitching about Leo not being up. So I went into the kitchen to calm him down. He was pacing back and forth not even listening to me. He had around a hundred and fifty pounds on me. So I told him he had to chill out and relax that’s when all hell broke loose. He stared yelling at me – don’t tell me what to do you can’t tell me what to do. That’s when I said yes I can. very calm and professionally. I was talking like I had a degree in psychology. Ed please just relax and lets talk about this. And that made him even madder. And that’s when he picked up the knife and started screaming at me. But the thing Ed didn’t know was that I was a fucking phyco too, and when he picked up that knife I lost my shit at the top of my lungs I said – going head you mother fucker stab me but I’m going to stab you right back and then I’m going to beat the shit out of you mother fucker. Now I don’t think that is in any of the books on how to deal with mentally retarded patients but it worked. Ed was so fucked up that some one Yelled back at him. He was so scared of my rage that his anger turned into fear. That’s right now he was afraid of me beating the piss out of him that he pussy right out. He said I’m sorry bob I didn’t mean to yell Its just that Leo is going to make me late I’m sorry Bob. I then got my shit together and told him to sit and wait in the living room and not bitch anymore. I would take care of Leo for him. He said ok and we never had a problem again. Now I’m not telling anyone to get into a knife fight with a retard but it worked that day.
Now as far as Leo goes I don’t have to much to say about him. This may sound harsh but because he was so annoying to be around always repeating your name over and over I didn’t really hang out with him to much. I could see why the other guys didn’t like him he was fucking annoying ass hell, Bob Bob Bob Bob Bob. I amost went crazy just being around him.
I remember the second day on the job I was waking up at six to make sure everyone was up and doing what they were suppose to. I had to take a wild shit So I was in the bathroom enjoying a nice cramped filled doo doo. When I jump off the toilet and started screaming like a little bitch. There was an animal on the sink and I didn’t know what the fuck it was I just started hitting it with the plunger as hard as I could and screaming. That’s when Barry opened the door and he was laughing his ass off. He came in grabbed the hairy monster and put it on his head then he grab its teeth and put them in his mouth. This asshole was bald and had no teeth. I guess he was in the bath room before me and left his wig and teeth on the sink but the way he put them one on top of the other it looked like a critter of some sorts. He walked out laugh and saying my name. I was fucking pissed. Mother fucker got me and got me good. I don’t think there is a more humiliating thing than having some retarded guy laugh in your face and pointing at what an asshole you are.
There was one time I had this chick come over after hours. My job started at eleven at night and by the time most of the guys were in bed so it was just me alone. I would have these chicks come over after eleven and hang for a wile. It was harmless I would just bring them into my room and bang and then most of the time they would leave. Oh ya one thing I would never tell new chicks that I lived at my job. I would just say I had really weird roommates. The look on there faces when a couple of these guys would come out was priceless. It was night of the living dead. Just these old retarded guys all sleepy eyed coming at ya. These guys weren’t stupid either. If they heard me bringing a chick in they would wake up to meet her. Just because you are retarded doesn’t mean you don’t love pussy. These guys are horny all the time. They would come out go to give these chicks a hug hello and they would grab a boob. I would scold them for it but that didn’t stop them. Barry don’t do that I would say. Starryyy baaaaaab That sorry bob in retard for those of you who are not fluent. She would say oh its ok he’s fine. Oh great I had to spend a hundred bucks on you and listen to all your hopes and dreams for three hours just to get a shitty hand job. This guy drools on his shirt he gets to turn your tits like radio nobs you Liberal douche. These guys liked sex boy or girl it didn’t matter. When I first started working there I would walk around in my underwear in the morning. Back then I had the body for bikini under wear so that’s what I had. Well if these guys like you they mimic you. So there next clothing voucher they went to the store and they all bought bikini underwear. It was disgusting these old retarded men walking around in pastel colored bikini underwear. There was ass hanging out nuts every wear. It was just wrong. Well one night I heard my name being called from Barrys room so I went in there to see what he wanted. When I got there he was laying on his bed with his tail green bikini underwear on. I said Barry what do you want? He then told me to leave and so I did. I heard it again my name over and over. Baaaab oh ya Baaaaaaaab ya bab ya bab. I ran into his room and there Barry was with his underwear down to his ankles jerking off to me. I was flattered and mad at the same time. I told him never to do that again and left the room. I didn’t want to be mean to the guy. I mean he could have used his retard strength to make me suck his hooked hog. Then were would be in this story.
So anyways back to my story about the girls I would bring back. One night I had this Italian girl I new from when I was younger. I never got any sexy off her because we were to young at the time. But now she was a dirty slut. Someone pimped her and she liked it. We were making out and getting naked on the floor. Just when I was about to put it in her puss puss. She leaned in and told me to fuck her ass. Now I’m not a real big fan of ass fucking But I guess she was and I’m not a party pooper. So I wet the tip of my hog and pushed it into her ass. Ya raw dog you fagot. This was in the early nineties there was no aids back then. So we were just getting into it when I heard my name being called. Not in a dirty I’m jerking off to you kind of way like Barry was doing more like please help me bob. So I pulled my fudge sickle out of her ass and moved toward the bathroom. When I got there I could hear Pete whispering out my name. I open the door and almost puked. There was Pete standing there with shit all over him and the bathroom. It looked like he wet shit his pants and someone spun him wile he was dong it. It was everywhere. I was freaking out. I had this hot Italian chick wanting it in her ass in the other room, And this guy standing in shit asking for my help. I threw him in the shower hosed him down made him take his close and clean up the shit on the floor with his close and some towels. Then we took the close and towels and put the in the shower and he cleaned them then I made him get some Windex and wipe everything down. It took me like ten minutes. And the was great time. If you saw how much shit I had to clean up I should be in a record book some where. But the smell and the brownness of it all had entered my brain. I went back in the room to this girl lying naked on my floor. Just wanting me to stick my mule in her ass. But I couldn’t I would have puked on this girls back side. She was like come on baby fuck me in the ass. I was like look I just cleaned up a bunch of ass in the bathroom and I don’t think I can do that right now. I told her she should just go and she did. I never saw her again. So if you read this whatever your name is I would love to finish the ass fucking we started. So in the end I had to clean up shit. I knew it the day I started that job that some day I would have to clean up shit in some form.
If any of you are familiar with my scaring people joke well this house is were I got it from. The guy on the first floor Billy was scared of his own shadow. He would turn all the lights in the house on every night after I would go to bed. I would then wake up to my boss yelling - at me that all the lights were left on last night. I would tell her I shut them out. I couldn’t figure it out, until one night I went down stairs turned all the lights out and hid in the bathroom. Sure enough as soon as this little mother fucker thought I was gone Billy would sneak out of his room and turn all the lights back on, cursing my name the hole time. Fucking baaaaaaab what and asshoooooole baaaaaaab. So I went back out and turned the all the lights back off and rubbed against his door. I ran back into the bathroom and waited for him to come out. He did but this time he was freaked out. He stuck his little head out side his door and said. Baaaaaaaaaaaaab ita tat dew baaaaaaaaab. When he thought it was safe he went back out and turn the lights back on. I did this again and again but the last time I turned the light in the bathroom off. I left in on all these times so he wouldn’t come into the bathroom were I was hiding like a fourteen year old girl. He started to the bathroom were I was hidding. I was hiding behind the door giggling with excitement knowing what was about to happen. He reached in to turn the lights on and I jumped out like the boogie man and screamed RAAAAAAAAAAAAAW. I thought I killed the little guy. He jumped back and fell to the floor convulsing screaming. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo noooooooooo do da dooooooooodaaaaaaaaaaaaa taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaago. Something like that. As he was shaking on the floor I was pissing my pants I thought I might have scared him normal. Like he might just get up and say hey dude thanks I have been waiting my hole life for someone to do that. Then I could go around the world curing retarded people by hiding in closets. But that didn’t happen he got so mad at me. He got up pushed me and told me to FUT OFF. I was dying for like an hour I couldn’t stop laughing. Just remembering his tough falling out of his mouth, His eyes rolling in the back of his head and his little hands fluttering to get the monster away. So that’s were I got the scarring people joke. I wound up working there for I think two or so years. It was one of the best jobs I ever had. These guys became my friends. My comedy started taking off around a year and a half into this job. I started having a hard time making it home on time to do my job. I started having to take days off for shows and it was getting way to much for me to handle So I had to quit. Leaving those guys was a very hard thing to do. They had become part of my family. I love them and I miss them. I don’t know if there still alive because they were old when I knew them. But I will always remember them. They were six of the coolest mother fuckers I have ever or will ever meet in my life. And I thank god for putting them in my life.

MY FATHERS

MY FATHERS

First off, I know some of these stories are not laugh out loud funny. I just wanted to go another way for a while. Not that I had you rolling on the ground with my last posts. Just know, the whole time I’m writing these stories, about every five to ten minutes I itch my asshole and smell it. Now, that’s said, lets get into it.
I have had four foster fathers, two step fathers and one real father. So, let’s start with my so called, real dad. I don’t know too much about him now, because we don’t talk. But, I will tell you what I know about him.
My fathers name is Steve.  He met my mother when she was fifteen and knocked her up with my sister. So you know they weren’t in love. They probably were drinking Schlitz and banged in some bush at a park. Ya, that’s right my mother was banging at fifteen. My mother came from an Irish Catholic family, so they had to get married. He was a good looking guy and from what I can tell, pretty smooth with the ladies. One of the reasons, I never got to know my father was because he was over in Vietnam when I was born. There is something about having a Vietnam vet as your dad.  I guess buy the time he got home my mother was finished with him. The way my father tells the story is he got home from Nam and my mother was fucking around on him.  I guess he tried to kill her or something, so they got a divorce.  I mean, can you blame him. You were just in a fox hole killing little dark haired charlies for two years.   You come home, your country hates you, and your wife is getting duked in the cheese by some comi fuckhead.  Like all vets he came home with a little thing called a drug addiction. From what he told me, he liked to drive around with a case of cough medicine in the seat next to him. So, from the time I was born, I never knew him.  My mother went back to my grandmother’s.   I grew up there. That was the only family I knew. I will get back to my real dad, or as my mother likes to call him, the sperm donator.
Ok, here I am, happy, living with my five uncles, two aunts, grandmother, grandfather, mother and sister, in one small house. It was like eight is enough. All of a sudden there was this guy hanging around. His name was Billy Manchington. He was six/ four, black hair that parted to the side and he had a mustache. I remember he would come by and we would go to these cool places that my mother never took me. Places like Bensons Animal Farm, Canobe Lake Park, and the beach. I didn’t understand it.   I was in kindergarten. When your that young, your like a dog, you like everyone.  Especially, people who give you treats.  This guy would give us a lot of treats. It happened so fast, one day I was living with my family, and the next we were moving into this strange apartment on the other side of town with this tall guy.  I remember the first day we moved in.  They took me to my room.  Holy shit my room.  I have never had my own room. My sister, mother and me shared a room, with my uncle my whole life.  But, now I had my own room with a door.  I was in heaven.  I remember opening the door to my room.  There was a brand new bed, a brand new desk, and a brand new toy box with all brand new toys. It was like fucking Christmas.  I have never felt that much joy in my life.  It was like a drug.  I didn’t know what to say.  Everything was fucking amazing.  This new tall dark guy was the shit. I think I even started calling him Dad.  Hey you, buy me enough shit, now I will call you daddy.  But, all this joy and excitement was replaced with fear, loneliness and hate.
In my room, I had this little alcove that had a little tv in it.  I would sit in there on my bean bag and watch TV for hours.  One night, I was in there, and the sun was going down.   Everything was still great, and that’s when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen.  I woke up and walked out to the kitchen, and that’s the day my life changed forever.  Up until this point in my life I had never experience violence or abuse.  I had never even seen it on tv. I just didn’t know people could treat other people like that. I just knew love.  I was fucking kid for Christ sakes.
As I open the door to my room to go into the kitchen, I was about to experience all that  bullshit for the first time and not the last.
My sister was on the floor with the phone cord wrapped around her body, crying like I have never seen someone cry before.  My mother was hunched over on the floor next to her, holding her stomach, trying to hold back her tears but loosing.  I stood there in shock for a second, not knowing what the fuck I was looking at.  The two people I loved the most in the world had been hurt bad and I didn’t know what to do. Then I saw him passing back and forth like a caged panther waiting to strike again.  My mother saw me and grabbed us, and took us both into my sister’s room.  They were both crying hysterically.  I just shut the door and locked it.  All of a sudden, he was there at the door like a horror movie.  Banging on the door, yelling at us to open the fucking door or he will smash it in.  I just stood against it, trying to hold him back from my sister and mother.  With every bang, I twitched. I knew I couldn’t let that thing get to them.  I had to hold the door and protect them.   I tried, but I could hold him back.  He smashed the door open with his foot.  I went flying back against the wall. The door smashed me in the face, and I hit the floor dizzy.  My sister screamed like a real monster was coming. I don’t remember what he said.  He just yelled something and left.  We all just sat there in shock, holding each other crying.
This went on for five years. This big bully took advantage of us.   Abused my sister, mother and me.  But, over the years, my tears turned to hate, my fear turned to rage. Getting thrown down a flight of stairs because your five minutes late.  Getting punched in the face because you don’t do what you’re told.  Getting wacked in the back of the head every time you say something stupid; will do that to you.  Humans are made to survive.  Over the years, I learned that the only way to fight this asshole is to be as violent as him. The day it all changed, is when I tried to stab him.  I don’t know what the fight was about.  He was fucking with me, and we got into it.  He started yelling at me. I was done taking it.  I was done being a little kid, and no one helping me.  I snapped, and got a nice fat steak knife out of the drawer and went after him.  To my surprise, he ran.  I was chasing this big asshole around the house, with a knife, and it was great.  It was the first time I felt empowered.  I could beat this guy.  My mother came running downstairs and grabbed me.  I was flipping out.  I was in rage.  All my anger, all my hate was coming out at this guy.   I had a knife in my hand and he knew I wasn’t fucking around.  While my mother was holding me back, he called me a punk.  He stuck his hand out and said “go ahead, stab me, you punk”.  I didn’t even hesitate.  I swung the knife down as fast as I could to stab his hand.  He pulled away, in horror.  He didn’t think I was going to do it. But, I would have plunged that knife into this cunt, until they pulled me off him.  I did it. I won.  He was finally scared of me, instead of me being scared of him.  I beat this fucking monster.  Later that afternoon, we were out in the backyard, trying to get a stump out of the ground.  It was uncomfortable for both.  I mean, I was just trying to stab this asshole and now were doing yard work.  There was a hatchet I was using to get this stump out.  I raised it over my head and this fagot jumped back like a little bitch. I had this six foot fag, gun shy of me killing him.  I just laughed.  The sad part of this whole thing was that I was in the fifth grade.  I was a kid and I had enough rage and hate in me that I would do anything not to get hurt again.   

 Not only did I have to deal with basic kid shit for those five years.  I had to deal with this psycho at home.  I just wanted to hide in a box and never come out.  He would fuck with my head, as well as, give me a nice whack, in my cute Cuban dome.  If he was in a fight with my sister, he would buy me a nice toy and get me on his side.  Same with my mother.  He would buy us both a toy.  I mean, we were kids.  If the monster you are afraid of is treating you nice, you take it.  Plus, I like toys, as some of my fans know.  You could by me a pineapple and lee press on nails and I’m happy.
My mom finally told this asshole to fuck off, and she wanted a divorce. But it was too late for me.  I was already fucked. So, we moved out of our house and moved into this shitty, two bedroom apartment around two blocks away.  It was like going from a mansion, to the projects.  My mom gave my sister and me our own rooms, and she took the living room.  Even though it was two blocks away, it was very different.  My mother had to work almost everyday to keep us afloat.  Me and my sister were not getting along.  So, I was alone everyday and it sucked.  So, I did what any good kid would do.  I went into a nice depression.  I just wanted to sleep everyday all day.  I couldn’t face the fucking day.  I was in sixth grade.  In the last five years, I went from being a happy fun loving kid to this rage filled, lonely, depressed ass; with no friends.  I would get up in the morning, kiss my mother goodbye like I was going to school.  I would head out the front door and go around to the back into the basement; where I had a corner with a pillow, a 13 inch TV and a blanket.   I would sleep all day.  I just couldn’t face the world.  I just shut down.  The only thing that I could do was sleep the whole day away.  I did this for like, two weeks, until I got caught.  I think it was a Wednesday, around one in the afternoon.  I woke up from my coma.  I was hungry but, I had already eaten my lunch.  So, I was just going to run to the store real quick and get some snacks.  I had to be quick because if anyone saw me, like a neighbor, I was fucked.  So, I opened the hatch to my depression chamber and ran full out with my head down, to the store to get a Susie Q.  I was flying down the street, not looking where I was going, and I bumped into someone.  I said sorry, and tried to go on my way.  That wasn’t going to happen.   As I went to leave, I looked up and it was my mother.  She was shocked, what are you doing home.  I told her I had a half a day, and she bought it.  I was so happy.  I went and bought my Susie Q’s.  I was on my way back to hang with my mom, with a big creamy smile on my face.  I walked in the door about to offer my mom one of my pastries, as I heard her yell my name.  As a kid, you get to know your mother’s tone.  There is the Bobby, that means:  come here dinner’s ready.  Then there is the bobby.  Which is: left a mess in the kitchen, or you ate something you were not suppose to.  Then there is ROBERT PATRICK KELLY!  Which means:  your fucked.   Her tone was the third, so I knew I was fucked.  I guess my teacher called to see how sick I was because I hadn’t showed up for school, the last two weeks.  I was in sixth grade.  I didn’t know how to tell my mother I was in a depression because of the last shitty five years of my life and I resented her for it.  I just took my punishment, swallowed all the pain and shut down.  I got good at swallowing pain and shutting down.  That’s when I found my new friend that would be there for me and help me meet other friends.  He took away all my pain and loneliness.  Made me feel like superman.  That friend was drugs and alcohol. It would be my only real friend, for the next few years.  This is also when my second stepfather came into my life.  His name is Larry Borsetti.  He was an old fashioned Italian guy.  He liked cooking, singing and listening to oldies.  One of the nicest guys on the planet.  If he was my dad from the beginning, I would have been a different kid.  But, he wasn’t.  He came into my life a couple of years too late.  You see, I had been alone for too long and now I had a new buddy that made me feel great. I'm working on the rest of this story now. It will be finished in the next couple of days.