Comix Cafe, Tonawanda,NY. Once you get here, your treated like a king. It's a great atmosphere, the staff is excellent and can't do enough for you. Its nice. Too many times comics are treated like part of the furniture in some clubs, but not here. From the owners Randy and Karen Reese, to the managers Paul and Dave, your always made to feel important and appreciated. Most people who are fans of comedy might have the impression that we're treated like that everywhere, and that the comics are making incredible amounts of money doing these shows. For most of us comedians, that's not the case. If you add up all the expenses of travel, which is not covered by the clubs, along with food, vehicle insurance, and the basic necessities, most of us are barely breaking even. The truth is that the feature acts you see, the comics that go up before the headliner, are making bare minimum, and most of the headliners out there in the clubs have second jobs to keep them going between gigs. We don't get a take of the door, we don't get reimbursed to travel, or expenses, in fact the only comedians who get those privileges are the nationally know acts. This is why it's such a pleasure to work in clubs like the Comix Cafe, both in Tonawanda, and in Rochester, NY. At least here your treated a hell of a lot better then you'll ever be treated as a comic in Boston, the  snob comedy capital of the world. So folks, the next time you visit a comedy club, remember, those folks you see up on the stage are working just as hard as you do at your job, most of us just scrapping by. If you can manage it, stop and say hi. If you can afford it, buy a item they might be selling, it covers those expenses, and above all else show you appreciation during those shows, because the more you do that, the better the comedy show will be. Until the next road  trip... Freddie Stories from the Road #2 As a rule, I hate hypnotist, for one reason only; they take up stage time at comedy clubs that should be showcasing comics. They should be helping people quit smoking, and to lose weight. Most of their acts are virtually the same, ranging from PG, for the overnight high school graduation parties, to triple X, where you see the hypnotist holding a dildo, and telling the participants it's floating across the stage by it's self. The club owners say that they fill the rooms, doing extra shows, and filling their pockets, so I can't blame them for not wanting to take advantage, but hypnotist and soap opera stars keep more comics out of work then hot summer nights, and snow storms. Once in a while you come across a nice one though, like Frank Santos. I met the man once, a couple of nights ago, and he was nothing but complimentary, and professional. It helped that we where in a non comedy venue, a country club ballroom straight out of the movie Caddyshack, but in any event, he was a gentleman. Most of the others in his field, act like they shit ice cream and piss lemonade. What really pisses me of is when I run into one that use to be a comic, and say's he's stepped up in the food chain, to where the money really is. I say it's because the only way they can make people laugh is by making the audience the show, and taking them of the hook, because they can't make people laugh on their own. It's a great change to see one that's his the best in his field, who treats all entertainers with respect, and who is a class act. I just wish they would say out of comedy clubs and start renting rooms at the Super 8... Until the next road  trip... Freddie Stories from the Road #3 Plainfield Town Hall, Plainfield Connecticut. It's a first for me, but perhaps I'm not the first comedian to play there. I'm sure with all the politicians crawling around, there's comedy happening everyday, at tax payer's expense. My worst fears started coming through. Did I have to do a CLEAN show? Are all the old bitty's and crusty old fucks you see at the convenient stores, taking up all the counter space,and giving me scratch ticket dust poisoning, going to be there? Will there be kids in the audience, like the night in Greenville, Maine, when the booker decided to tell us children where going to be in the crowd after we got to the gig. All the 5 year olds learned a lot of new words that night. What I would've give to be a fly on the wall the next day at the Smith residence. "Mom, who's Mister Mushroom, and how come he lost face?" "What did that man mean when he said, "Cooching Monster"? "Is that under my bed too?" No! This turned out to be a extravaganza, put on by the Plainfield Lions Club. Over three hundred people in attendance, ready to let us, let it rip. Anything goes with this crowd, and all the stick up the ass people where told to stay away. You know, one night in Bangor, the club actually had someone complain about the Ass Cannon, saying it offended them. It's a plastic lower half of a manikin, that shoots balls out the rear end. Apparently his person's mother must have been a blowup doll, and it was just to personal for them to handle. Anyway, thanks to the Lions Club a great time was had by all. It's nice to have people come up to you after the show and tell you it was the best show they've seen there, and they've been having them for 4 years! It's makes all 7 of us comics playing there that night, feel good inside. It makes you wanta love yourself all over again, without the medication and the lubrication! Hell,who needs porno? Until the next road  trip... Freddie Stories from the Road #4 Backing off... Every now and then, the road really gets to yeah. The long trips, the empty moments, and bad food, it begins to take it's toll. Sometimes the reward you get in the business isn't nearly the price you paid. It's time to take a step back into the real world for a change. I'm backing off for a while, just doing the weekend warrior thing, Mr Saturday Night, etc. Keep in mind, I'm not giving up, or giving in. It's time to recharge the batteries, time to write, to reflect in what's taken place, what has been broken, and what can be fixed. There's a rude awakening that has taken place in me, a reality I've never before considered. Unfortunately it's mostly economics, and logic, and something that, quite frankly, most entertainers at this level ignore. If you start to add all the hours of travel, the depreciation and devaluation of your vehicle, the hours of writing, the cost of press kits, and promotional materials, the phone bills, including cell, and you divide that by the amount comic gets paid for a show, (ranges from $100 to $300 per show), then you start to realize what it truly means to be a starving artist. Comics make fun of people who work a MacDonald's, when in fact, those people make more than we do! Comics get no medical, dental, or 401-K plans. No time off with pay, no sick days, no reimbursements. Oh, in case your saying to yourselves " $300 per night isn't bad" It wouldn't be if we consistently worked 5,6,or 7 times a week. With so many comedy clubs closing, it's tough to get that amount of pay per month, never mine, per night. Most of the clubs that are open, only have 52 weeks of work, and 10,000 comics banging on their doors, so you do that math on that one. I've decided to slow down for a while, climb out of that bucket of shit I've been sitting in for the last 13 years, get caught up, recharge, if you will. It's very depressing when you consider that after all those years, your not even making minimum wage. I guess it's nobody's fault but my own. Dawn finally breaks on Marblehead... Until the next road  trip... Freddie Stories from the Road #5 Can't Duck When Your Hit By A Truck! I'm back, I'm alive, and boy, do I have a lot of writing and performing to do! Let's hear it for the Maine Turnpike Authority, shall we! It was so nice of them to change the numbers on the exits. It use to be simple, like exit 8, exit 9, and exit 10, but now they've turned into mile markers, with little yellow signs at the bottom that tell you formally exit 8,9,and 10. Can you say, where the hell am I? I thought exit 10 was exit 9. I said to myself, " Gee, these tollbooths got closer". I pulled over, then the lights went out. I wake up to find 3 firefighters cutting me out of my Ford Escort Wagon, and an idiot State Trooper asking me how it happened. "Why don't ask the guy who hit me, and bye the way, can you ask him what he hit me with"? It turned out to be a dump truck, doing 45mph in a 10mph zone. In the field of demolition derby, I think it's safe to say that ten out of ten times the dump truck wins. For that 15 minutes I was knocked out, I got a visit from two dead relatives. My grandmother standing with my uncle. She's smiling and telling me I'm not ready to go yet, and my uncle's telling me to get the fuck out of here! Seven minutes later, "Welcome to Maine Medical Center"! What a experience! I'll tell yeah, when your in pain, there's nothing like a Morphine drip in your IV to make you forget all about it. Then comes the day after, and hear comes the relatives I scared the shit out of and I'm still playing hand ball with Captain Jack. First to arrive, Mom and my kid brother, Kirk. Mom's happy I'm still on the planet, and my brother's jealous he isn't hooked up to the same happy trail I was attached to. Then comes Dad and his wife, bitching about how long it took them to get there. His wife says " My god! Did we have trouble finding a parking spot" and I said, "what, no place to put the broom"? Then I start yelling out quotes from Johnny Dep, in the movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. "Stop blowing holes in my ship"! " Careful with the goods, love" and "what say you Barbarossa"? No pain, insane, what a way to fly! I'm happy to report that after 4 weeks of in and out patient therapy, and a shit load of pain reliever, (aka it hurts without Perks), I'm walking and talking again. A special thanks to Health South Rehabilitation in Woburn, Mass, and the incredibly talented staff of Doctors, Nurses and their assistants, as well as the physical and occupational therapist. I'm back and nobody's fucking with me again! Dump truck? Is that all you've got, a dump truck?... Pussies? Until the next road  trip... Freddie Stories from the Road #6 The Sterile Stage. This is not a road story, but a story about a stage located in the heart of politically correct land; also know as the People's Republic of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Though some road comics work this stage on occasion, it's mostly infested with the stench of the Euro-trash, left wing, snobs, who know better than the rest of us working fools, and are amused by the material of self proclaimed comedians, who feel that their offerings are too intelligent, and above the comprehension of the rest of the great unwashed. The place is known as The Studio. It claims to be a launching pad to stardom; in fact, some of its alumni have made it to The Conan O'Brien Show, or are occasionally slid into a rigged contest for an all expense paid trip to a Las Vegas stage, only to be told to screw after his second appearance. Yes folks, that comedy you see on TV these days, that crap that slaps all over the living rooms of Middle America, the seed that develops such comic genius as Al Franken, and Jeanine Garafalo, is developed and stoked in places like The Studio. They mock the road comic, who busted his ass for years on end, traveling thousand of miles, entertaining thousands of those people; who get off their asses, and pay hard earn, working class money, and patronize their local comedy clubs to see comics they can relate to. A Studio comic can only imagine the horror of having to perform in front of an audience of people who just got of off working at that factory, or at that office building, or that grocery store. They have nightmares of having to deal with hecklers, eating nasty fast food, and paying outrageous gas prices. They are perfectly happy with the coddling environment, the warm comfort to conformity, the constant ass wiping of The Studio. I got a first hand taste of one of its creations one night. An act calling themselves The Walsh Brothers. It was at the Enfield Elks Club, in Connecticut, you know, a place where people who work all week visit, drink, laugh, and have a good time. A place that any comic worth his weight in salt could get the easiest laughs in the world. Not these guys. They got up on stage and proceeded to have a conversation, with themselves. Nothing remotely funny, especially to the audience in front of them. Just slightly amusing verbal jabs at each other, and an occasional comment about the lack of laughter from the crowd. Now as comics, we've all had nights where the audience just didn't get it, but I never stooped to what these two did. With the one brother's encouragement and the some audience members egging him on, the other brother decided to tuck his dick between his legs and drop his draws on stage. You know, if you're going to do this, at least have the decency to wave your wang at them while you're at it, and finish the job. I'm no prude, but come on men, at least get out of there with your pride! How come we don't get that kind of entertainment on Conan? I guess that's the lesson for today, boys and girls, and bye the way, the show promoter learned a lesson too. Never book an act without seeing them first, preferably with their clothes on.And the next time you see a comic on National TV, who doesn't say anything remotely funny for the first 15 minutes of his set, thank The Studio.cause they know better than you. Until the next road  trip... Freddie Follow-up to Stories of the Road #6 The Sterile Stage Boy are they touchy down in Cambridge, Massachusetts! Seems they have no problem dishing out the criticisms of road comics, but when one decides he's had enough, and calls them on it, out comes the flying monkey shit, mostly originating from the walking ass lickers. They consistently use the word "Hack" to label me, and my performances. They base their judgments on hearsay, and opinions of others, rather than their own vacant personal views. In other words, their shitting on someone they don't know, and haven't work with. I will back pedal on one thing. When I mentioned The Studio, I forgot to separate the comics who I've worked with, and who I have tremendous respect for, who also perform there on occasion, and who don't deserve the slap I gave the rest of the bottom feeders. To Tony V, Tim McIntyre, Kelly McFarland, DJ Hazard, and those of you who've had the guts to make your mark on the road with me, I salute you. To the others who throw the word "Hack", around like an Iraqi terrorist throws a hand grenade into a grade school, I'll just laugh all the way to my next gig. The truth is this gang, there's not a whole lot you can do to a comic who doesn't give a shit what the industry has to offer. I care about what the audience wants, and I'll let them decide if I'm a hack, or not. I'll say this again to all the liberal elite snobs, who think they shit ice cream, and piss champagne. NOTHING IS ORIGINAL!!! COMEDY IS SUBJECTIVE!!! GET OVER YOURSELVES!!! They've been doing mother in law jokes since man ventured out of the Studio, oops, I meant cave. Comedians are not originators, they are observers, annalist, and reporters, all commenting on life through they're own point of view. Many times we all have the same comments with very similar points, on the same subject. We don't own the subject matter, we only own the opinion, and like assholes, many all look and sound the same. The word 'hack' used by comics to attack other comics, is like someone calling a woman they couldn't fuck, a slut. I've been told by my good friend, Tim McIntyre, that the Walsh Brothers are the toast of Boston. Good for them! In the real comedy world, in those places outside the 495 beltway, they are toaster scrapings, but to be fair, I watched their entire act, it was only one audience, I do have over 15 years in this business, and it's only one man's opinion. They reminded me of the Smothers Brothers, only the Smothers Brothers had one thing the Walsh Brothers didn't have..jokes! For the job they signed on for, they where grossly inexperienced, out of there element, and totally unprepared. Now here comes the shocker folks. I don't totally blame them. It was nothing more then poor judgment, and we've all had our bouts with that. Their egos where over stroked, and their ability to read an audience, and adjust, was non existent, and according to the promoter, they where booked way in advance of the gig, and yet no one from the Studio gave them any advice on how to prep for it. Here's a little tip I'll give them. Clean the shit off your lips boys, and offer to showcase for bookers outside the Boston beltway for free, like many of us did for years, in order to either get work, or constructive opinions. That's the advice I would've gave them, if they stayed to the end of the show, instead of taking the money, and running. Yet, it's not their fault. It's who they're learning from. Not from a comic who's been there, like Tim McIntyre, DJ Hazard, and Tony V. No folks it's from the Stewart of the Studio, the High Priest of Perfection, the Orator of Originally, the man who couldn't close an umbrella, even if it was stuck up his ass. Paging Rick Jenkins! Paging Rick Jenkins! He's running The Studio. Meanwhile, out in LA, the careers of ten thousand monologist is now in the hands of Pauly Shore, and the Last Comic Standing was nothing more than a Barry Katz bag job. Rodney Dangerfield isn't rolling in his grave, he's shitting himself while doing handstands. Yes folks, the Dark Age of comedy is here. Will the last person with an open mind, and free will, please shut off the lights when you leave the stage. Until the next road  trip... Freddie

The Masters Storys From The Road