The Daily Derenger

5/24/2003

Sitting beside me is a brand new jar of unopened Bone Suckin' Sauce. That's right. Authentic one of a kind, straight off the shelf of Cracker Barrel.

Now I know what you're saying, "This Derenger is one sick puppy. He's making jokes at the expense of a family-oriented, down-home-country-cooking restaurant."

If that's anything close to what you're saying, you'd be absolutely right. And why not?

I mean, it's called Bone Suckin' Sauce. Of course we know, or at least I hope we all do (those of us adults out there at least) that this sauce is BBQ sauce. And knowing the quality of food at Cracker Barrel, it's probably some very good sauce.

But shouldn't it be able to stand on that merit alone? Shouldn't it simply be some good ol' sauce without the name Bone Suckin'? Maybe Bone Lickin'. (Nope. That, too, would be too suggestive.)

Surely the name has sold thousands of bottles. Perverts everywhere can't help but chuckle at such a product name and want their friends to share in their chuckles. And it clearly makes for a great gag gift if not for anything else. If one wasn't sure if BBQ was the kind of sauce it really was, it could possibly be seen as the Bone Suckin' Sauce that resulted from the actual bone suckin' in the first place.

Far too complicated at this point.

But it doesn't stop there.

Bone Suckin' Sauce Rib Rub. That's another product, the powdered version of the sauce.

Rib Rub? Come on. For anyone who has doubted if sex really sells, take a closer look at these names.

Sitting about 10 feet from the sauces sat a t-shirt display. Among them was a green shirt with a smiley face. Under the smiley face read, "Happy Camper."

"If I buy this sauce and it works," I said to the cashier, who was already thinking I was obscene and disgusting, "can I come back and get the shirt for free? They should really be sold as a package deal "

She didn't know what to say and instead laughed with a certainly uncomfortable laugh.

I was arrested shortly afterwards. Hopefully the fans of the Bone Suckin' Sauce will be able to generate enough cash to pay for my court costs and lawyer fees. Or else I'm gonna be doing some bone suckin' of my own in jail.

5/22/2003

I don't care where you are, what's happening in your life or who says it, when you hear, "Who farted," there is nothing funnier. I just heard it an hour ago from a 10-year-old girl with the twang from Tennessee so it was that much funnier. You could be standing in line at a wake of a long-time lover or close friend and if "who farted" is uttered, even the corpse cracks a smile.

As Bill Cosby says and stars in, "Kids Say The Darnedest Things." They don't even fully understand the comedic value or the true meaning of their timing and delivery. For instance, a friend and I were playing with their neighbor's kids last night. It was a game of keep away from a 7-year-old boy and his 9-year-old sister, Caroline.

Right in the middle of running around and laughing as the ball never seemed to fall her way, Caroline said, "Stop or you're gonna make me pee."

This was a much more distinct southern accent than that which was heard at the pool. So however you think they say "pee" with that Tennessee drawl, use your imagination and laugh out loud, please.

My godson, Gary, who is 7, plays little league baseball. In his first game of the season, Jammer, the mascot of our local minor league baseball team, the Joliet Jackhammers, was at the game. The kids were going crazy over Jammer, taking pictures and asking him to sign their hats, among other things.

"Maybe I should get Jammer to sign my cup," said a boy from the dugout.

The parents got a huge kick out of that. And since some boys are a bit reluctant to wear their cups, having a Jammer-signed model couldn't hurt.

After that game, I gave Gary a ride home.

"Are you okay with sitting in the backseat?" I asked him.

"Uncle Scott," as he and his younger brother Nathan refer to me, "I have to sit back here. I have my cup on, remember?" Just then he simultaneously gave it a gentle punch to assure me that it's still on and doing its job.

And I thought the airbag and seatbelt would've been protection enough.

5/22/2003

I saw the new Matrix. Save your fuckin' cash or at least go see it as a matinee. I needed to get a tub of popcorn and a vat of Cherry Coke to stay awake.

I guess I don't get the sci-fi crap and why people go ape shit over it. There's no acting or witty dialogue. And maybe I still see Keanu Reeves as Ted "Theodore" Logan so anything that involves space bullshit isn't complete without Bill S. Preston "Esquire" or Rufus.

I'm not into video games nor the special effects that theMatrix was laden with. Enough with the hovering people, camera angles switching and the running along the walls. Sure it was entertaining for what it was and that's why I went to see it, for the hype. But that's about it. The fight scenes weren't even nearly as good as, I don't know, a Steven Segal flick.

The flick was attended by myself, my cousin Todd and 4 of his Intimidator teammates. They play minor league baseball in Kannapolis, North Carolina for the White Sox Single A Affiliate.

I was able to catch a game and a half of theirs. Last Sunday night there was a lengthy rain delay that enabled me to catch the game from the third inning. Actually me and about 25 other loyal fans caught the game. Looking back at it, I should've pounced on the opportunity to snag a foul ball ... or five. Never have a caught a major league foul ball, whether in batting practice, the game or in a twelve thousand seat stadium with only 25 chaps scattered about. Oh well.

Todd pitched the day before I got there, naturally. As a pitcher, even a reliever, you don't throw every day. Since Todd threw over three innings on Saturday, he wasn't scheduled to pitch until his road trip in Jersey. Again, oh well.

I caught their entire game on Monday. Todd began warming up in the bullpen and I, like the proud cousin living vicariously through him and his baseball dream turned reality, ran to the car to get the video camera. I taped a bit of his warming up in the pen as well as his grand entrance from behind the right field wall.

"Wait, that's not Todd," I said in a most disappointing fashion.

And it wasn't him. Rather, it was his roommate, Rick called from the pen to close out the game, a game in which they lost 2-1. And yet again, oh well. We at least hung out, both of us almost fell asleep at the Matrix, we bullshitted a lot and even shopped at Sam's Club. Quality time if ever there was some.

More to come later.

5/18/2003

So my week at the High Point, North Carolina Funny Bone has come and gone. Since this will be my lone post of the trip, assuming nothing overly eventful will take place from here back to Chicago, how 'bout simply recapping the highlights (and maybe lowlights) of the trip, in no particular order.

**Playing in the Tarheel state meant that I was able to show off my UNC mascot tattooed on my left shoulder. Now this is college basketball country in these parts with about 40 miles and 4 cities separating UNC, Duke, NC State and Wake Forest. The Tarheel fans who came the show appreciated and even applauded at the sight of the mascot, even though his Carolina blue had faded over the 9 years of its existence. But nonetheless, for a brief moment during each of my 6 shows, I was able to endear the Carolina faithful to me. Was I funny or not? The jury is still out on that one since I ripped on some Duke fans and their alumni who have gone on to do nothing in the professional ranks. For them I had one name: Michael Jordan.

**As I've said before and will surely say again in the future, the amenities for a week on the road can be something extraordinary. They can make an otherwise boring, lonely week in central North Carolina seem Vegas-like. And the High Point Funny Bone did just that.

The club is owned by a comedian, Todd Yohn, so that explains a lot of the perks of this place. The hotel is hands down the nicest one I've stayed in my 3 years working the road. Complete with a huge jacuzzi and dual headed shower with sliding mirrored doors from where the TV could be watched, the place was magnificent. Again, I know I may be overdoing it a bit but when you've had considerably worse accommodations, even from a homeless man's standpoint, you tend to really enjoy the good ones.

This place also offered a complimentary breakfast of sausage, bacon, eggs, waffles and then the normal continental breakfast like donuts, cereal and juices. When you don't have to tap into your wallet to get a start to your day, it's a very nice feeling. Especially when there's not much in the wallet to begin with.

Throw in the in-room microwave, mini-bar with fridge, stereo/CD player and king-size bed and you would think I was a traveling celebrity instead of a suite waiter at Wrigley Field. Oh yeah, the Cubs sweeping the Brewers was another nice perk of the week.

Generally food at a comedy club is just for the sake of having something to soak up the alcohol, thus making you drink more. Not at this comedy club. I ate a burger, some cheese and veggie quesadillas and a cajun-seasoned strip steak. They were all some the best of their kind I had ever had. There's no reason to bullshit about good food, either.

The club gave me a $25 bar/food tab per night, anything over than was on me. So what? That's 25 bucks worth of free shit, like getting paid an extra $100 for the week. A man's gotta eat and drink, right? Kudos to the Funny Bone staff for their generosity and great hospitality. I'm still full.

**Stumbling upon the three-book collection "Letters From A Nut" made for a welcomed surprise. The first day I did the readings were in a Border's. The following day I found a Barnes and Noble to enjoy the "Nut." (You simply can't beat the comfort of the Barnes' and Noble chairs.) If you haven't yet read any of the "Nut," be sure to do so. They are letters of the most absurd, yet hilarious and well-written fashion you will find. The sender writes letters to hotels asking if they found a tooth of his he lost or one to the King of Tonga commending him on the name Tonga. And to make it even better, the corporations and majesties write back with a poignant take of their own, written on their own very stationary, complete with signatures, logos and everything. Or at least we're to think it's directly from them. Although still unknown for sure, word on the street is that Jerry Seinfeld in behind all the works. Even if he's not, Seinfeld writes the introductions in all 3 of the books. A must read and a great bathroom book. For me, I will now have something to do when stuck in most cities and without a luxurious hotel to call home.

**My cousin, Todd, came up to see a show with his buddy Tom. They play for the White Sox Single A affiliate in Kannapolis, about an hour south of High Point. My travels sometimes have allowed me to meet up with a friend or family member I wouln't otherwise be able to. I'm heading down to see him play either today or tomorrow depending on the weather.

As for the lowlights ...

** The crowds at the club were severely less than well attended. Small but mighty is nice at times but still, I traveled 14 hours to play for more than 60 people total on a Friday night. But I guess when you play in North Carolina on the weekend of a Nascar race and the Dixie Chicks nearby, there ain't nothing appealing about anal bead jokes.

**Having my credit card rejected at a bar when attempting to buy 2 local ladies some drinks was somewhat embarrassing. "Sure, let's do some shots," I said. "They're on me. No I insist. It's my pleasure. Just keep on talkin'. I love the accent, even if you do say 'yes' with more than one syllable."

**Inviting 3 southern belles back to my hot tub room on the first night in town: priceless. Surely it was going to be a great week, right.? However, having the hottest (and youngest) of the bunch leave with some guy from the hotel bar and then having the next hottest one pass out cold: horrifying. But that left one more. So what. As nice as she was, I was not in the mood to listen to talk of her straight A's in philosophy nor how she thought that she can be as cute as her sister if she wanted. When all was said and done, all my towels had been used and even some of my clothes were borrowed and soaking wet. A knock on my door came at 9:45 a.m. the next day. "Hey ladies. Good morning, " I said to the non-Plato studiers from the night before. "Breakfast in bed?" Not a chance. "We forgot our jewelry and are late for work. Thanks and good-bye." Back to bed I went.

**Sleeping on the floor. Was it that big of a deal? Not at all. I'm simply stating that the lone persons to sleep in my bed other than me were my cousin and his Aussie buddy, a fellow head-shaven one though. Just adding the plight of this comic on the road. But hey, no need to cuddle with or call them come dawn. I'll find a silver lining anywhere I can.

I now have to get out of this castle-like room and find something to do for the next few hours. The Cubs are on at 2:10 so that will help kill some time.

And folks, that's about it from North Carolina. Ya'll come down here to visit some time, ya hear!?!!