Prince’s Hot Chicken with Marc Maron & Ryan Singer

Posted on September 12, 2011 by chad riden

I had the great pleasure of being able to see each of Marc Maron’s shows at Zanies in Nashville this last week and pal around with him and fellow comic Ryan Singer for a bit. Among other places, I took them to Brown’s Diner, Athens Greek Family Restaurant, and Prince’s Hot Chicken Shack. All three are fantastic places to eat and talk and enjoy Nashville at it’s best and worst.

Prince’s is a Nashville landmark. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but I’ve heard a girl my age say her grandma worked there when she was young. I love taking people there. I’m a fan of way-too-hot food and it just doesn’t get any hotter than this. There is also a huge entertainment factor to visiting Prince’s. This restaurant is blacker than a thousand midnights – there’s a barbershop next door.. privatized (although questionably professional) security.. cops circling the place.. and a lot of guys just hanging out on the sidewalk. The only way Prince’s could be blacker is if they had pictures of Malcolm X on the wall.

An audience member brought Marc some of their chicken to the show Thursday night, and after eating a few bites he decided he needed to try it hot and fresh. After the late show Friday, we loaded up the car and drove over to 123 Ewing Drive. Marc, Ryan and I were joined by Nashville comics John Thornton Jr., Gary Fletcher and Sean Parrott.. none of whom chose to eat (was this wisdom? or were they just chicken shit?). Ryan doesn’t eat meat but decided to on this special occasion. Ryan is NOT a pussy. I wish I could say the same for my friends John, Gary and Sean.. but I can’t. Vaginas, every one.

Marc talked about our visit to Prince’s Saturday morning when he recorded the intro to episode 209 of his WTF podcast – and at both shows Saturday night in Nashville. By the second show he had developed a good, solid chunk of material that fits nicely into a near-death-experiences theme in his current act. I hope he keeps it in.

On WTF, he tells an early version of the story of our adventure at Prince’s.. and it’s pretty accurate.. but one thing he got wrong was when he said I told him, “They don’t let white people order the extra hot.” Marc may have mis-heard or may be exaggerating for comic effect.. either way, let me ruin it. Here’s what I told him:

The first time I ordered the Extra Hot, the woman at the counter gave me this look and said, “Have you eaten here before?” and I said, “Yes, Ma’am.. I know what I’m getting into.” She raised her brow and turned her head a little saying, “OooooooKkaaaay..” as if she had done her due diligence warning me and was not responsible for what was about to happen to my butt-hole. I do think that by ordering Medium, you’re showing them respect. When you walk in and order Extra Hot, they’re going to try to hurt you.. and they will not fail.

I have eaten the Extra Hot.. but NOT THERE. I get it TO GO, so they don’t get to watch me cry while I eat. I recommend people order the Medium, because that’s still pretty damn hot. “Hot” is certainly hot enough.. and you’ve got nothing to prove by ordering Extra Hot. There’s no need to be a hero.

Marc and I ate “Hot.” I drank an iced tea and then refilled that container at least four times with water before we left the restaurant. I turned bright red and started hiccuping and developed a flop-sweat.. but I knew what I was getting into. At some point, Marc said something to the effect of, “what have I done?” or maybe the look on his face said that to me. The look in his eyes was unmistakable – he looked like a wounded animal. I haven’t seen worry and regret like that since my acid trip days.. I felt like I was in the Cool Down Tent trying to talk him down from a bad trip. He went thru a giant water pretty quickly and I almost didn’t bother asking if he wanted a refill.

We ate at about 1 or 1:30 a.m. and then pretty much went home. At 3 a.m. I woke up on my couch and felt like I was about to give birth to a 20-pound baby made of fire. I was hoping that I was going to puke instead. I wouldn’t know what to do with a fire baby. I was sweating profusely and my stomach felt like it was splitting atoms. I popped some antacid tablets, which felt like throwing ice cubes into a volcano. I tried to drink water but I was in so much pain I couldn’t swallow more than a mouth full. Excruciating, unbearable pain. My pained wailing made my dog so upset that HE started to cry. This fit lasted about 12 minutes and then I was a feeling good enough to drink some water and I went back to sleep.

At 4 a.m. I woke up suddenly with terrible pain again and scrambled as fast as I could to the bathroom. I almost made it on time. Almost was not close enough. I vomited up the spiciest chicken available to man – in it’s liquid, semi-digested form – and it was terrible.. but I felt better. I brushed my teeth and cleaned up the mess and went back to bed. I was weak, but I was ok.

I woke up the next day with a huge headache.. and I didn’t drink any booze that night. I didn’t know a hot chicken hangover was even possible, but Prince’s.. you did it. I went to meet up with Ryan, Marc, John, Gary and James Austin Johnson on 12th Avenue South. Marc just smiled when he saw me and asked how I was feeling. We exchanged horror stories and laughed at our common pain. It was like we’d been to war and could now sit at the VFW and laugh about it.

I was looking forward to meeting Marc. This year, the people who run the Montreal festival asked Mr. Maron to give the Keynote Address at the 2011 Just For Laughs Comedy Conference. Among other things he said, “When I was kid watching comedians on TV and listening to their records they were the only ones that could make it all seem okay. They seemed to cut through the bullshit and disarm fears and horror by being clever and funny. I don’t think I could have survived my childhood without watching standup comics. When I started doing comedy I didn’t understand show business. I just wanted to be a comedian.”

The same goes for me.. except one of the comedians I was watching was Marc Maron. I remember seeing him on David Letterman’s old NBC show, on Comedy Central when that was a brand new channel, on Late Night with Conan O’Brien at least 40-something times.. he was one of the guys that made ME want to do comedy. He was doing more than just telling jokes. I loved the way Marc seemed to be emotionally invested in what he was saying – disarming the demons that haunted him by laughing about it.

If you’ve seen my act lately, you know that this year I declared bankruptcy; got shingles; face foreclosure on my home; I got scabies; and instead of moving to NYC like we planned, my wife left me and that left me with an empty schedule and few bookings. It’s been a little rough.

On WTF #209, Marc mentioned me saying, “Chad Riden, good guy. Been thru a lot. His heart’s heavy. World’s weighing on Chad. Weighs heavy on Chad. He’s got a burden.. but he’s a funny guy. That burden makes him funny.” Which is probably the nicest way of saying I’m a miserable piece of shit who then insists on telling every audience all about it.

It was fantastic to meet Maron and hang out. I think it would have been a very rough week for me if I didn’t have him and Ryan Singer around to make me laugh constantly. They’re doing the big work.

Marc was very nice to mention me on his show and I appreciate it. Just a couple weeks ago I was name-checked on WTF episode 204 by Doug Stanhope. This is probably the best exposure I’ve gotten so far. Can I now use WTF as a credit? No? Shit.

an open letter to all entitled twats

Posted on August 19, 2010 by chad riden

In short, “Go fuck yourself.”

Originally this was directed to one person who was blowing up facebook talking shit, totally unprovoked. I’ve since removed the references to that one specific talentless, hacky, derivative, delusional moron to reinforce the reason this kind of thing is so frustrating: this happens all the time.

Clueless, entitled twats are everywhere.. and they don’t understand why everybody doesn’t just hand them a stack of money and a development deal. They aren’t self aware enough to realize that they’re a dime a dozen, doing nothing unique or original or even noteworthy.

I literally met this guy once at a show and apparently he walked away expecting me to run a publicity campaign for him. For free. For his shitty act which was a terribly un-funny rip off of a SNL character from 15 years ago. He thought I was going to run home and get to work researching what the hell it is he does and then stop everything I’m working on to go out of my way to promote him? I’m not on your staff, jackass.

This happens to me a lot. Ten years ago, I inherited NashvilleStandUp.com from another comic who was moving on & I’ve tried to use it to build up and promote the local scene. It’s something I did because there were a lot of really talented people creating incredibly funny stuff and I felt lucky to be a part of it.

Of course, there’s always whiners and complainers. I’m not doing enough, I’m doing too much, I play favorites, I’m elitist.. 100% of the time, these people are the ones who choose to spend their time bitching about what other people are (or aren’t) doing instead of doing something productive themselves. Instead of writing comedy, they spend their days telling people that “this scene is too clicky.”

If THAT’s what your conversation is about then shut the fuck up. Be funny or fuck off.

If you want me to promote your shit, first you have to give me something to promote.. (and it has to be WORTH promoting!).. and and you have to make it easy for me to promote. If all I have to do is cut and paste your press release, chances are way better that I’ll do it.

And if I don’t? It’s probably for one (or more) of the following reasons:
1 – You’re not funny.
2 – You’re a dick.
3 – Your project (whatever it is) sucks.
4 – I’m busy working on MY projects (or projects that PAY $$$).
5 – It got lost in the shuffle (TONS of people send me stuff, and there just isn’t time to look at it all).
6 – I haven’t gotten to it yet.
7 – I forgot.

I hate stupid drama, but I bring this up because I want to make sure everybody understands something:

NOBODY owes you a god damn thing. I *choose* to promote shit I think is funny (and a lot of shit that I think is fucking mediocre at best) because I want to. If someone you barely fucking know don’t drop everything on their schedule to do something for free for you, it’s probably because that’s not how the world works.

Anybody who thinks they deserve this or that just because they exist.. just because they showed up.. just because they want it.. is a fucking idiot and doesn’t deserve shit.

However, if you’re doing something cool/unique/funny/interesting/whatever and want some help promoting it, give me a yell. I’d love to be involved. Just make it easy for me to help you:
1 – Learn how to write a press release. Then do that.
2 – Get some professional photography done.
3 – Get good looking and sounding audio and video clips made.
4 – Make promo kits. Then put that shit into my hands or inbox. (Also, put it online! There’s this thing called the internet, use it.)
5 – Follow up. Remind me, but don’t pester my ass.
6 – Be a professional.
7 – Be nice.
8 – Maybe do something for ME. When was the last time you promoted one of MY shows out of the goodness of your heart? Have you ever bought me a beer? How often do you talk to me when you DON’T want something from me?
9 – Hell, do something for YOURSELF. If you don’t have enough sense to do the things I’ve listed above, what makes you think I’m going to do something for you?

This isn’t a new idea or unique to me, this is how the fucking world works. I’m not a dick because I didn’t pick up the pieces of your open micer existence and build a 360 promotion deal and 50-city theater tour for you.

I’m sick of the idea that if I don’t do a complete stranger a favor by promoting his terrible, shitty act – I’m somehow wronging him. That, right out of the gate, I owe this goof something. That I should devalue myself, my brands, and the actual, WORKING comedians I associate with to promote some fuck-nut’s half-assed amateur bullshit.

I’m not a “gatekeeper” for comedy – I built a website 10 years ago to promote the local scene. If you don’t like what I do, fucking make your own website, you idiot. NashvilleStandUp isn’t a public utility that everybody has some birthright to utilize.

If you are pissed that I haven’t done FREE publicity for you.. keep in mind that this is one of the things I do for a living. YOU ARE NOT MY CLIENT. GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Jackass picks up roadkill deer off the interstate

Posted on December 31, 2009 by chad riden

Of course, the jackass is me. This is a video clip I previously put on the YouTubes but I just put it up on the FunnyOrDie the other day, so I thought I’d re-whore it.

It’s a mostly true story recorded May 18, 2009, at Zanies in Nashville, TN during Mary Mack‘s cd release show. I did a rambly 35 minute set of stories that I (mostly) had never told on stage before & this was probably my favorite clip from that:

Jackass picks up roadkill deer off the interstate – watch more funny videos

In the video I said it happened in February, but it was actually January 13th, as evidenced by my twit (twat?) on Twitter.

The end of that story is the big writer’s embellishment – I didn’t string it up in the back yard and field dress it while the neighbors watched in horror. I wish I had. I thought I could find a guy to come cut it up that night, but no-can-do. I ended up going back out on the road for a few weeks.. salivating every time I thought about it’s sweet, FREE, organic goodness. Next thing you know, it’s been a month or two and the thing is still frozen solid.

My Lovely Wifera & her friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Any time I tried to tell them how to live their lives (and apparently I do that a lot), they’d say, “OH like I’m going to listen to you, YOU’VE GOT A DEER IN YOUR GARAGE.” Maddening. I had to put an end to the jibber-jabber. I was home for a while so I borrowed an electric saw from my dad & thought I’d go ahead and thaw Bambi out and see what I could do with him.

Turns out, a frozen buck is incredibly difficult to get out of a chest freezer – especially if you’re as weak and lazy as I am – plus it was too heavy for one person to lift as a fresh kill. My Lovely Wifera Laura was no help to me.. she absolutely refused to take part at all. I gets no support! No support, I tell ya! Even if I did have her help, there’s no way it would have come out of there.. I had to thaw it first.

I cut the power to the freezer the morning of May 30th and figured it would thaw over the course of the day & I’d cut it up that night. Guess what? It takes about five days for a frozen deer to thaw out. FIVE days. Five days of waiting and worrying. Five days of “I told you so”s. Five days of “hey Chad, I saw a squirrel on the side of the road yesterday.. want me to run by and see if it’s still there?” Five days of “WTF am I doing with my life? I’ve got a college degree, for shit’s sake.”

By June 4th, it was finally pliable. I tied a rope to its antlers, ran it thru a pulley hanging from the ceiling of our garage, and tied it to the bumper of My Lovely Wifera’s truck. I inched it forward and pulled the deer up out of the freezer and let it hang over a 55 gallon trash can. No, I’m not white trash at all.. I’m endearingly resourceful, despite my complete lack of funds, class and common sense.

I used a steak knife to slice it from its balls to its throat, hoping the guts would more or less neatly dump out. It looked easy in the YouTube video I watched.. but I guess rednecks are way better at this kinda thing than jackass comedians are. I had a few complications. The guts of MY deer were still solid ice. It was a pain in the ass to get ‘em.. but with frozen fingers, I was able to pull it all out. Unfortunately, the impact of the truck had broken the rib cage and ruptured the guts pretty badly.. so the surrounding meat wasn’t edible. Oh well, plenty of salvageable stuff left.

I used the saw to cut the forearms (or whatever you call deer legs – drumsticks?) off at the joints and started skinning it. The meat looked pretty good.. the thing just generally smelled game-y. If any deer happen to be reading this, you guys should think about showering every once in a while. Maybe if you took a dip in the creek you’d be able to score more does when you’re out strutting around the glen, waiting to dart out into traffic.

My brother Kirk assured me this entire process would take around 45 minutes, but I think he underestimated my gross incompetence. Somewhere around 3-ish a.m. I was getting sleepy, but visions of venison stew and jerky and burgers and steaks and sausage kept me going. As I pulled the hide off the nub of one of the elbows.. maggots shot out.

MAGGOTS!

“That’s it, I’m done.” I thought. I tried to make it work, but that was a quitting point if I’ve ever seen one. The hide had been ruptured at the elbow, the ribcage and on the head. I guess a fly found it’s way to lay some eggs in the elbow at some point? Realistically, I probably could have used 70% of the thing’s meat, but even I have limits. I started having doubts when I saw how the ribcage looked.. but when I saw mf’in maggots I was able to accept defeat and call it a wash. When it comes to cleaning out the fridge and eating questionable stuff, I’m a human garbage disposal.. but there’s no way I could have eaten any part of this thing without that image of little wiggly larvae shooting out of the elbow coming back to haunt me. I’m ready to vomit now, and it’s been months.

I lowered the deer into the trash can and loaded it up into the back of Laura’s truck. I washed up and hauled the corpse off to a wooded spot down the road where I could dump it. I came back home, and hosed off the trash can and felt like Dexter cleaning up the garage.. except my inner monologue wasn’t unnervingly adorable psychotic rationalization – it was my wife’s friends telling me how bison-shit crazy I am.

Lesson learned! Roadkill is ONLY acceptable if it’s fresh & you field dress it IMMEDIATELY. Just don’t leave it laying around too long. I’m sure you already knew that.. some of us watched Bear Grylls eat rotting Camel ass on Man vs. Wild and thought, “I could do that.” The rest of you have common sense. I’ll admit when I’m wrong, dammit. I guess I’m less of a Hunter.. more of a Gatherer.

Endorsement: Dr. Bamford’s No-Soap™

Posted on December 9, 2009 by chad riden

Dr. Joel Bamford of Duluth, MN has a revolutionary break thru product that I just can’t stop talking about.

For years I suffered from dry, cracked skin. I’ve grown accustomed to molting my damaged epidermis annually, and along with it shedding any hope of one day not looking freakishly insane. Thanks to Dr. Bamford’s No Soap™, I’ve changed my skin and changed my life! I still look crazy, but at least I have healthy skin.

From SoapAlternatives.com:

Over the years major breakthroughs have improved the mildness of soaps, so that in the year 2000 products like Dove, Lever 2000 and Syndet bar can claim to be the mildest of soaps.

Even the mildest soaps made earlier cause mild to severe rashes, particularly in the winter months anywhere north of Miami, Florida. Only the naturally pure, smooth, block of NO SOAP™, first produced by Thomas Edwin Bamford, Sr., MD for his suffering patients back in 1866, can protect you from real soap damage.

Tom had a general practice which he carried out in his home office at 418 North Delaware Street, Syracuse, New York, North America. An orphan himself, he could not afford much soap in England where he was born and, later, in Wales where is father worked in the mines. He continued growing up in the tenements of New York City. After his mother died, he and his brother had to go to Remsen, New York, as a farm hand. The supportive Welch community there must have recognized his potential and helped him complete his formal education.

Though the air could be rough, wet and cold there, it was not until he began practice in upstate New York that he saw patients who, every winter, developed painfully dry, cracking skin. Over time he recognized the importance of avoiding too much soap, then the harsh soaps (Ivory is still fine for those who live in Florida), then the milder soaps (Cashmere Bouquet). He then had the sudden insight, NO SOAP™ would be best way to promote healthy skin.

This novelty product was quick to clear the damaged skin of his General Practice patients in Syracuse, New York, where he had in home office at 418 North Delaware Street. He also served as the Medical Director of a large psychiatric hospital, where it is likely NO SOAP™ was also a blessing to patients.

Thus far four generations of North American Drs Bamford have promoted this skin saving alternative to traditional, lye based, defatting skin products (any soap, body wash or shampoo).

More information about this incredible product and instructions for obtaining your own bar of NO SOAP™ is available at SoapAlternatives.com. Honestly, no home should be without at least one bar of NO SOAP™, but I’d recommend getting three or four, just in case. Don’t forget, they make great stocking stuffers! My sincere gratitude goes out to Maria Bamford for the referral.

Introducing Granny McSassy-Pants

Posted on September 22, 2009 by chad riden

the new headshot

Everybody knows that the best way to stumble upon new, fresh, up-and-coming talent is by watching prime time network tv. It is the proving grounds. The trenches. The trial-by-fire, do-or-die, additional-hyphenated-cliche, one and only shot at the Big Time. The World tunes in together to watch these bold gladiators of the stage battle for our collective hearts.

Some foolish performers toil away at open mics and local showcases.. then go on the road, honing their skills for years.. gradually working their way up the ranks as they develop and mature and refine their acts.. but how stupid is all that noise? Developing material? Seasoning as a performer? Honing your craft? What a crock of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Margarine! Get you a wacky costume, find a hook and get your lazy rear out to the cattle call auditions, dippy!

That’s what happened to me. I took my wacky keister down to the America’s Last Talent Standing auditions and the fine folks at NBC immediately took to my “balding yet somehow extremely hairy, lazy, overweight, white, smart ass” character. It was unique. It was unprecedented. It was exactly what they were looking for. I did my thing and they made me A Star. Wham-bam, thank you ‘merica! BOOYAA! America’s Favorite Comedian Of All Time ^TM can has yr cheezburger!

I’ve been riding that glorious wave of support and love and free stuff for years. I gotta say, it’s been an incredible journey. Thanks to all my fans, you know? Without you, I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) do this. That is straight from the heart, bitches. You know that.

With all of this said, I have an announcement to make. I’m putting my clever “Chad Riden” character on hold for a while. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE playing that guy. He’s so cute and adorable and funny and relate-able.. such an “everyman” character. I think that’s what made him so universally loved – the fact that deep down, there’s a little “Chad Riden” in all of us, you know? (and hey, if there’s NOT, there CAN BE after the show! Youknowatimsayin ladies? This guy knows what I’m mocking about.)

I never thought I’d see the day, but the time has come to pack up the “Chad” costume and put that era of my career behind me for now. I’ve got something new I want to share with the world and I really need to devote all of my synergies into this full heartedly.

Introducing Granny McSassy-Pants! My new character is a sassy Southern granny who speaks her mind! She don’t take no junk from nobody! AND (this is the best part) she’s got herself something of a potty mouth! I’ve got the next quarter totally booked up, but please use the contact form to book Granny McSassy-Pants for your tv show or movie or county fair and we might be able to cancel something to make time for it.

Thanks again to all the Chad Riden Fans out there, I hope you continue to follow me as I break new ground in this exciting, revolutionary adventure.

Doug Stanhope indirectly kept me out of jail and Bonnaroo traffic

Posted on September 15, 2009 by chad riden

The following is a long story about how Doug Stanhope indirectly kept me out of jail and/or a speeding ticket back in June 2005.

It’s about 2am-ish and I’m doing 85 or so on I-24 trying to get back to Nashville after a night at the Punchline in Atlanta. Fellow comics Billy Wayne Davis and Craig Smith had bought 40oz beers in the ATL, but they were fast asleep by now.. and I was coming up on Manchester, TN. I should have remembered that the damn Bonnaroo kids would bring out extra cops.. but I’ve had cruise control set and I’m just clickin’ along.

Blue lights. BW and Craig wake up as I pull over and they hide their empties. Cigarettes are fired up and BW scrambles for my registration as I fish out my license.

“Step out of the car please.”

I recognize the state trooper as one who pulled me over a few years ago in the same area. I had told him I was a comic who had just left Zanies and was on my way to Chattanooga.. and he let me go with a warning saying, “Mr. Riden, I don’t want to end up as one of your punchlines, so I’m goint to let you go.. just keep it under 80.. ok?”

This time, he asks me who’s been drinking.

“All of us. We’re stand-up comics.. we did a show at the Punchline in Atlanta tonight and we’re on our way home to Nashville. I had a couple beers before my set.. but that was like 8 o’clock. I haven’t drank since 9pm.”

He asked if we had any drugs.. that he’d been pulling people over all day confiscating all kinds of shit from Bonnaroo goofs. “No,” I said, “we’re just three professionals on our way home from a gig.”

He got BW out of the car and asked him pretty much the same thing.. also grilled him about what he was doing as he pulled us over. He had seen BW reach down and stuff.

“You’re not hiding a beer under the seat are you? If I look down there, what will I find?” He would have found a nearly empty 40oz and probably a few other empty cans and bottles and who knows what else. I don’t clean cars out.. I just walk away from the wreckage and find a new one when necessary. BW says he was putting his shoes on as we pulled over and as he says that he puts his hands in his pocket. The cop flips.

“Do you want me to shoot you? Get your hand out of that pocket!”

BW explains he never gets pulled over and he’s nervous.

“Well, don’t do that! Damn.”

While this is going on, I see that Craig is hiding something in the back of the Jeep. I move in between that image and the camera which I assume is mounted in the cop car. BW gets back in the car after a few minutes. The trooper comes back to me.

“Mr. Riden, do you want to give your money to the state of Tennessee?”

“No.”

“Cause I’ll take your money. If you don’t want to do that, I’d suggest slowing the hell down. I’m going to let you go with a friendly warning from the state highway patrol.. I’m not trying to be a dick..”

“You’re NOT being a dick, you’re being really cool.”

“Well, I’m letting you go because you guys are comics and I’ve been listening to Doug Stanhope on Raw Dog Radio.”

“Holy shit, you’re listening to Stanhope? We were just listening to his cd!”

So, now the trooper drops his puffed up chest stance and is loose.

“Yeah, he’s crackin’ me up. Have a good night and slow it down.”

“OK, thanks.”

I get in the car and fire it up. I pull the headlights knob and I pull it right out of the dashboard.. the headlights do not come on. I tried putting it back in and twisting it around… fiddled with it for three or four minutes. It’d been giving me trouble lately anyway.. but this hadn’t happened before. I can’t just drive off away from a State Trooper with no lights on.. I’m frantically trying to get it to work. I gave up and walked back to tell the cop what I’d done. I walked to the right side of his car and he had the window rolled down.

“Uh, I pulled the headlights switch out of the dashboard. I can’t get my lights on.”

He laughed his ass off. “Damn, boy! What else are you gonna do tonight?”

He got out and came up to look at it. He fiddled with it but no dice. He looked for a screwdriver but didn’t have one. He called his trooper buddies and the TDOT road-side assistance vehicles and asked if they had tools.

We all got out of the car and were standing around talking about comedy and stuff while we waited for the TDOT trucks.

“You would have been much better off if I hadn’t pulled you over.”

“Yeah, well.. I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

We bullshitted with them for a while. Craig even tried to sell some of his artwork to the trooper. Craig made some joke about patchouli and the trooper was like, “yeah, I’ve been confiscating it all day.. I’ve got a whole trunk FULL of it!” He thought patchouli was slang for pot.. we all died. Then I’m thinking, “just how cool IS this cop? I want to dip into that trunk of his..”

The TDOT guy tried to take apart my dash and find the switch, but couldn’t get to it. We decide to wait for daylight before continuing.. but we were ass deep in the middle of Bonnarooistan.. and by daylight traffic would be fucked and we’d be stuck in the middle of it. The Trooper offers us an escort 10 miles down the road to a truck stop where we’ll be past the traffic.

We load up in the Jeep and follow a TDOT truck for 10 miles down I-24 without the headlights working. The trooper follows for a while, but turned off. We passed a long line of Bonnaroo goofs, already lined up. At the truck stop, we bought some shit and watched the hippie parade for a while. Craig tried to start an impromptu comedy show in the parking lot. We ended up crashing in the Jeep until 5:30ish when the sun was up.

So, indirectly, Doug Stanhope kept me out of jail for open containers (and whatever else they may or may not have been able to find) or at least got me out of a speeding ticket.

My “Last Comic Standing” debut

Posted on July 15, 2008 by chad riden

The Chadyterians who follow my career closely already know this, but people keep sending me messages asking when I was going to talk about it all, so I thought I might as well talk about it here: I did appear on Last Comic Standing this season and it was glorious. Critics have already hailed my appearance as groundbreaking comedic genius spiced with dramatic tension unparalleled in the world of entertainment. I have to say.. please, everybody, calm down.

This is all very flattering, but I think it’s important that we all remember that I’m just a man. A very funny, sexy man.. but remember: I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.. so the deification is really unnecessary and embarrassing. Let’s all try to keep things in perspective.

I forget.. many people outside of the Chadyterian faith come by occasionally to see what all the whoop dee doo (whoop-dee-doo!) is about, so maybe I should put the clip right here for the people who’ve had their heads under a rock and missed the non-stop media coverage about my recent NBC prime time debut. Enjoy.

YouTube: Chad Riden on Last Comic Standing

The emails I’ve been getting non-stop all week ARE right: the producers were very, very wise to just give audiences a small, potent glimpse of my comedic prowess and tangible, raw, sexual power. I think the great people behind Nashville’s Premier Authority On All Things Comedy, NashvilleStandUp.com (which, upon first glance seems like a wonderful website. I’ve bookmarked it, and will return there soon to stay abreast of the local scene that helped launch my career. I don’t blame you if you do the same.) said it best when they called the clip “the funniest second of video on YouTube.” Thank you, kind sirs.

While I appreciate all of this attention, I just want to point out that I’m really just a kid trying to have some fun.. and the real champions of the night were all of the Chad Riden Fans out there – you guys are the reason I do what I do.. and without you, it just wouldn’t be the same. I hope to see all of you out at all the live shows and public appearances. Thanks again for all of your support. May Megatheos bless us all, preferably via the rocket-like continued success of my comedy career.

Valentine’s Day

Posted on February 14, 2007 by chad riden

We all know, the only thing worse than being completely alone on Valentine’s Day is being stuck in a horribly suffocating relationship that has drained you of your very will to live.

Valentine’s Day is yet another one of those stupid “holidays” completely fabricated by the retail industry (in this case, florists whose prices increase exponentially the week of February 14th) for which we sure as hell don’t get time off from work. However, we are expected to have something special planned for our significant others.

For women, this means…. well, honestly (as in most cases) all you have to do is show up. For men, it’s a time of stress and pressure equal to none. There are three basic routes a man can take on Valentine’s Day:

1) Fabricate a “break-up scenario”
Start an argument that is sure to end in a break-up. If your relationship is like 90% of the rest of ‘em, you’ll both do something naughty to get back at each other and be back together within 3-4 days. If you time this right, you can avoid V-day altogether.

2) Standard Valentine’s Crap
You cop out and buy some combination of flowers, candy, lingerie, and sex-toys. You take her to dinner (or cook one yourself) and hope to God that she is as unimaginative as you are and didn’t expect anything special.

3) Romantic Ingenuity
The phantom ‘holy grail’ of relationships: you actually care about your partner. Not only that, you want to do something totally unexpected and exciting because of your love. (This doesn’t mean doing something you read in Maxim. I know you think you have new, special moves up your sleeve now that you’ve read their latest ‘tried and true tricks’ article, but so does every other guy – and girl – that read that.)

I know, I know.. most people don’t believe this kind of love exists. Before I met my lovely wifera, I’d have said that I personally couldn’t vouch for the existence of such a thing, as most of my relationships seemed to involve some sort of cash transaction for every 15-minutes I spent with my loved ones. But I believed.. somewhere, somehow there was someone out there perfect for me. The lyrics of several Led Zeppelin songs told me so.. and if there’s anything I’ve learned in life it’s that wise old wizards and Robert Plant are always right.

If you want to really impress the object of your affection, there is one sure-fire way to do it: home-made crap. Whatever it is you’re giving her don’t buy it in a store, make it yourself. I know it seems stupid and way too simple.. but it shows creativity and imagination… and it’s cheaper.

I’ll help get you started. Here, my friend, are several home-made Valentine’s Day cards that the Jesse Perry and I put together just for you. Click each thumbnail to open a pop-up window to view the card. Inside the card there is also a link to open a page suitable for printing. Once you’ve printed it out, fold it in half, then in half again. Give it to your special someone, and watch the sparks fly!

Parents Are Full Of Carp

Posted on May 20, 2005 by chad riden

I was just searching the InterWebbie Brand Information Network for.. well, I was ego-searching to be honest.. and I stumbled upon this site and thought, "WOW! Somebody’s set up a whole website with a bunch of funny stuff I’ve done! Cool, I can read a bunch of my old columns.. and watch some videos.. and.. WAIT A MINUTE! This hasn’t been updated in years! HEY, I’m responsible for that site. Oh, carp!" So, yeah.. sorry?

So much has happened since my last column. My cute little baby has grown into a cute little girl. She’s about six or seven months into what we have to assume is the "Terrible Two’s." She’s started getting all defiant.. testing boundaries.. going out at night, drinking and smoking with her friends. Unacceptable! Where does she learn this behavior? Not Daddy!

It’s really not that terrible.. Callia is a joy which further reinforces my Parents Are Full Of Carp And Always Have Been Theory.

Carp: a bottom-feeding freshwater fish which is the main ingredient of most parents.

Remember when your parents exaggerated everything they told you and you saw right thru it and thought they were full of it? Then, sometime in your twenties you realize that your parents had the best intentions.. and maybe YOU were the assjack. Having redeemed yourself and finally become an adult, you shake your head at how immature you were.. as you continue to eat all of their food and bring your laundry every time you visit.

Then your friends start having kids and you think, "They’ve lost their damn minds! Why? How nuts is that?! Not me!" But they tell you how great it is and you secretly think, "No, they’re full of it. I’ve seen what their day to day life is like and that sucks." If you take it at face value.. yeah, you’re right.

At some point, though.. the Pop Rocks and Coke mixtures you ingested decades ago finally gestates and you have kids of your own. (yes, that IS how it happens.. babies come from crappy, over-done pop culture references.) Then you realize that yes, wiping some kid’s butt and nose for him is an irritating chore.. but taking care of your own kid is.. well, it’s an irritating chore.. but you don’t mind doing it ’cause you love ‘em and it brings you joy to be able to do something to help them out. (Hopefully that’s the case. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, and those parents are now either in jail or on their way to H – E – double – "time-out".)

Being a parent means you are around other parents, like it or not. You soon realize that most of these parents are overly concerned with making sure everybody thinks their kids aren’t the dumbest, ugliest ones ever to live (especially when, clearly, they are). They do this by comparing their spawn to yours and by exaggerating everything their kid does.

Little Billy pounds on the keyboard mindlessly? Computer genius!

Pookie cocks an eyebrow at an odd time? Comic genius!

Katie eats something she found in the yard? What a resourceful young naturalist wilderness survival expert!

"We call him Monkey ’cause he climbs all over everything!" Really? You mean just like every other kid that has ever lived? How unique! "Monkey?!" That’s wild! How’d you think of that?

Santa arrives with beer for Daddy.. Callia cries.. and Mommy can barely contain her venomous rage.

"I’m not going to be that way," I remember saying. "I’ll never lie to my kid, either.. I’ll tell her the truth about everything and she’ll appreciate it." Then Christmas comes and Santa arrives with his bag full of lies. Eventually, the Easter Bunny hops into town just to make sure you don’t go six months without confusing a religious event with the contrived commercialism that requires the same card-candy-gift and dinner reservation combo that every other "holiday tradition" consists of. Guess what? Now you’re a parent who’s full of crap, too. (No, next Easter we’re not getting chocolate eggs from a bunny.. it’s going to be Lincoln Logs in the sock drawer delivered by a goldfish, just to honor the memory of Bill Hicks.)

That was a long winded way of saying I think other parents have either exaggerated how "terrible" the Twos are.. or their kids were clearly inferior to mine in every single way, especially genetically, intellectually, cosmetically, socially.. oh, wait.. I’m full of crap, too (or carp.. whatever, same thing). Especially when I say I’m going to sit down and write more often.

Babycapades, Part 2

Posted on September 23, 2003 by chad riden

Let me start off by saying: “First time parents.. you’re never ready to have your baby! There’s no such thing. Oh, you think you’re ready.. but then it happens and you freak the hell out.” See, I had to say that. I’ve found that having a child means you have to act like a damn know-it-all “been there, done that” prick. Having kids turns you into a blithering idiot. The sad thing is even if you realize that, you can’t stop it.

That’s the other thing first-timers have to look forward to.. every jackass who has ever had kids wants to yap your ear off with their crappy advice. Then they welcome you to the “club” and smile knowingly as they tell you about their shit-head kids and the wild parenting experiences they’ve had. As if having a baby changed the fact that you don’t give a crap about other people’s kids. Or is it just me? I don’t know. I’ve digressed.

We went in for a regularly scheduled checkup a couple weeks before the babys due date and were told, “Wow, you need to get over to the hospital now. We’re having this baby today!” My first reaction was “No, no, no. We can’t do it today.. if we do it two weeks from now, I can work from home for a couple extra weeks. We should do it then.” The doctor looked at me like this was unreasonable. Apparently babies are very defiant and can’t follow directions even from the very start.

Chad's baby, 30 seconds after being born.

So we go over to the hospital, check in and get ready for the action. I don’t want to get into the details of the birthing process (because the footage is available in the “soopa-secret hidden bonus material” section of my critically-acclaimed standup dvd).. but I think I can sum it all up by saying there’s both a time to be ive, and a time to shut the hell up and get out of the way. Walking that fine line is the tricky part. Here’s a tip: bring your own booze. The hospital doesn’t keep any in the fridge.

When you’re having a baby everybody asks what you’d prefer, a boy or a girl. It really didn’t matter to me as long as the child was healthy and black, yaknowatimsayin’? (See, ’cause my wife and I are both whiter than Vanilla Ice.. ha! ha! woo! White and Black jokes! Guess what else? I DANCE LIKE A DORK! ha! ha!)

First time parents are already scared out of their minds – add the chance of retardation, deformity and the baby coming out looking like your lady’s “close, but completely platonic friend” and the stress level is high enough to justify pulling out that six-foot bong you’ve had in storage since college. One thing to keep in mind is that all babies are really ugly when they’re born. Incredibly ugly. I’d been told this, but I wasn’t prepared for the first time I saw my baby. Her skin was blue, she was covered in a white film plus blood and goo.. and her head was shaped like a gourd. She looked like an unfortunately misshapen inbred Gremlin.

Callia Lee Riden, after the swelling went down.

My heart sunk. “Oh God. Oh, no! She’s.. special. She’s going to be one of Jerry’s kids! Dammit!” My thoughts were erratic and crazed as I ran thru our options. Finally I came to my senses. “It’s ok. I love her no matter what. I won’t run screaming out of here right now, never to return. We’re NOT leaving her in a dumpster and fleeing the country. We’ll take care of her.” By this time, I just felt silly because she had started looking human. The point is.. don’t make rash decisions those first few minutes. Give it about 5 or 10 minutes before doing something you’ll regret. ‘Cause she’s turned out to be beautiful.

20030923_daddy Unfortunately, she looks a lot like me. Not unfortunate for me.. but oh, that poor kid. Imagine me about five days old in a diaper. Except with yellow skin. She did have jaundice, but we loved our little Simpsons baby. I’d hold her and say, “doh!” and my wife would say “mmmmmmmmmm!” and some kid we didn’t even know would ride by on a bike and go “ha-ha!” Never has my shame been so cartoonish.

Once we took the baby home, it amazed me how attentive she was. She pays such close attention to everything we say and do.. it really puts the pressure on. You start running out of original things to say to a baby and end up repeating little things over and over. Eventually we were reduced to blabbering about how pretty she is.. how perfect she is. I started getting scared that it would all go to her head and we’d end up with a prissy sorority girl princess who thinks she’s better than everybody else. To prevent this, I’ve started balancing out these compliments by saying things like “you’re so intelligent! Such a great mathematician! How’s daddy’s little astronaut?”

Another thing I found myself saying was “Daddy will fix it.” Weather it was a bottle, diaper or some other baby catastrophe, I’d reassure my child by repeating the “Daddy will fix it” mantra. I’ve decided I need to stop doing that, too. I don’t want an 18-year old daughter to be running over pedestrians in her new BMW without giving it a second thought because she knows “Daddy will fix it.” It’s easy to stop saying it now, but when that phrase starts to mean “I’ll just put it on Daddy’s credit card” – then I’m screwed. Better nip it in the bud.

My wife is so over-protective of the baby.. it cracks me up. The other day the baby and I were down in the basement laying on the couch, just minding our own business watching porn.. not doing anything wrong.. and my wife comes running into the room like the baby’s on fire asking me “is she still breathing? check her.. is she still breathing?” Ridiculous. I’m not the best Daddy ever, but I’m not that bad.. but I am a smart ass. So I reply, “No, sweetie, she died four hours ago.. I’m just cuddling her corpse.”

20030923_billhicks Of course she was alive. We were the ones walking around like the living dead.. all sleep deprived, undernourished and unbathed like really lame zombies. Even Michael Jackson’s zombie buddies in Thriller were disfigured with tattered clothes.. cool gang members who just happened to use the art of dance to express their unholy rage. What about us? Do we get to bust thru walls and scare teens with our crotch-grabbing spins and twists? No, we had to stay up all night crying.. hoping we didn’t flip and throw the baby against the wall.

We did figure out how to get the baby to sleep thru the night. Many people will tell you to put baby cereal in their formula.. but that’s just a lie. The secret is: fill their little bottles or sippy-cups or whatever up with black coffee at 9 a.m. and at 9 p.m. slip ‘em some sleeping pills. That pretty much keeps her on schedule. And when that doesn’t work, violent beatings do! Ahh, restful slumber.

The other big lie people tell is that they never get a chance to go out after the birth. What a crock. You don’t even need a babysitter. If your child can’t walk or talk, you can just set her in a closet and go about your business. She can’t get out.. who’s she gonna tell?

She is developing and growing so fast, though. You’d be amazed at how quickly they learn. She does this little trick now where she ties a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue! So cute.

All jokes aside, baby farming is the most rewarding thing you could ever do. It’s absolutely amazing. Pound for pound, babies are worth more on the black market than most all other commodities. The tough part is fattening them up enough to sell. You can’t just pack up a newborn in styrofoam peanuts and ship ‘em UPS.. you’ve gotta make sure they have enough body fat to survive the trip. Otherwise, you’ll end up with bad feedback on ebay. That sticks with you your entire life!

Chad Riden: comedian, nerd

America's Favorite Comedian Of All Time

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