(Walks onto the stage, adjusts the mic stand, looks around slowly.)
Hi. How’s everybody doing? Good? Good. I’m doing okay. I’ve reached that age where my body has started making sound effects. Like, I’ll just stand up from the couch and my knees go “CRACK.” It’s not even a movement; it’s a closing argument. It’s my skeleton saying, “Are you sure? We’ve been over this. We don’t do vertical anymore.”
I went to the doctor recently for a physical. The doctor told me I need to “manage my stress.” I told him, “Doctor, I’m an adult in the 21st century. My stress is the only thing currently holding my personality together. If I manage it, I’m just going to be a pile of laundry and a subscription service that I forgot to cancel.”
He told me I should try meditation. Have you ever tried to meditate? It’s just sitting in a room, trying to clear your mind, and then suddenly your brain decides, “Hey, remember that embarrassing thing you said to your boss in 2014? Let’s play that in 4K resolution on a loop for the next forty minutes.”
I don’t want peace of mind. I want a noise-canceling headset for my own thoughts.
And speaking of technology, I’m tired of being asked to “rate my experience.” I bought a toothbrush on Amazon, and three days later, they email me: “How was your purchase?”
It’s a toothbrush. It’s doing exactly what it was designed to do. It’s not a life-altering event. I don’t want to write a review. If I write a review, it’s just going to be: “It touches my teeth, and I still have them. Five stars. Leave me alone.”
Everything is a transaction now. I went to a self-checkout machine at the grocery store, and the machine had the audacity to get impatient with me. It’s flashing: “Unexpected item in the bagging area.”
I’m standing there like, “It’s a bag of onions, you judgmental toaster. I’m doing your job for you for free. Maybe show a little gratitude.”
But that’s the world now, right? We’re all just beta-testing our own lives. I tried to make a healthy dinner last night. I bought kale. Do you know what happens to kale if you don’t eat it within four hours of buying it? It turns into a sentient, bitter sponge. It just sits in the fridge, judging my life choices. I opened the drawer, and it looked like it had been through a war. It was wilted, it was gray, it was basically a salad that had given up on its dreams.
I ended up ordering pizza. And the pizza delivery guy looked at me with such pity. He didn’t even say, “Enjoy your meal.” He just handed me the box and said, “I hope your night gets better.”
That’s when you know you’ve hit rock bottom—when the guy delivering pepperoni is performing an emotional wellness check on you.
Anyway, I’m out of time. You guys have been great. Or at least, you’ve been quiet, which is the highest compliment a comedian can ask for. Drive safe!
