My Video Intro

What follow are to be considered transcriptions of spoken word pieces that I would have delivered in a physical theater. You will also find video and audio pieces here.

This show has been roughed out years in advance, and material delivered as its time approached. There is an arc to this show. For that reason, posts --that is, pieces-- should be read in order, from older to newer. So if you've been absent for a bit, scroll all the way down and read upward.

Please remember that this is not a free show. This is the professional undertaking of a professional comedian who bet the farm on making this a going concern. Just because it is possible to steal my property does not mean that you may. If you go to the farmer's market and the man is away from his table, you are nonetheless obligated to put your money into the shoebox labeled "Put money here." My personal friends are exempted from buying their tickets, as well as those who may not be able to afford to buy a ticket. Everyone else is morally and legally obligated to buy a ticket if they partake of even, say, a dozen pieces of mine per year. Duck outside my theater for a cigarette as often as you like, but you didn't get in here in the first place without buying your ticket at the box office. The cost is $100 per person, per year. There is no law enforcement discount. There is no news media discount. No one gets a discount, unless you honestly don't have the money. (And to my law enforcement patrons: Even in Lenny Bruce's day, cops had to buy their tickets before they could get into his theater to jot their notes. Jot away, but if you are not here to arrest me or to shut the place down, then you are here covertly. If that is the case, then you are passing as ordinary patrons. If that is the case --and it is-- then you buy your tickets just like regular customers.)

Thank you for coming.

--Chris

Bitcoin Address: 1KtMQ32BoHqBAx4GFjLR1gLrBBp1BSnQs6

Or mail $100 to Chris King, Grafton, Vermont 05146

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This is the product safety sticker that accompanies all my speech:

There was a Pratt and Whitney JT9D 7-series compressor recovered from Murray Street in New York on 9-11, the precise identification of which is detailed in the Capta Brightstick Document. That incompatible engine hardware precludes Flight 175's presence at the scene of the crime and indicts the jurisdiction known as United States as criminal. If you are a member of a grand jury or jury, or if you are a judge, and if this product safety sticker has been removed from whatever speech of mine may have been presented to you, it is because the prosecutor is pulling a fast one on you and doesn't want you to know that the federal government auto-executed itself in a grand ceremony for all to see. Please have a nice day.

Updated legalese, added 11/1/2012 on the occasion of realizing that every time I go to court, Madame Prosecutor is forever waving around my intellectual property contained herein, content to use my words against me without having the decency to buy her ticket to my show. Well, here's something you can wave around: "I, Christopher King, do hereby plead guilty to whatever it is that Madame Prosecutor may allege. I'm rotten to the core and I secretly make fun of the judge all the time. As a result, I --and here these are my words, the words of the prosecutor and not of Mister King-- I have luscious melon breasts and I think the judge is the worst thing ever to happen to the court. You hear me, judge? That's right. I, Madame Prosecutor, secretly hate you and I think your rulings blow. I would like the record to reflect that Mister King is well hung and I ache for his tender ministrations. I suck, the prosecutor's office sucks, the judge sucks, and Mister King is a national treasure despite his plainly stating that he is guilty of all allegations that may ever be made. He plainly confirms that he is a dangerous terrorist. There. Let the record try to sort out who is who in this statement."

http://youtu.be/rJDztqCG91g

"Ta da! Behold Assclown Jurisdiction United States!"

End of product safety sticker.

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Buy your ticket to my show!

Bitcoin Address: 1KtMQ32BoHqBAx4GFjLR1gLrBBp1BSnQs6

Or mail $100 to Chris King, Grafton, Vermont 05146.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Did you know that I have a PhD in Theoretical Physics from Stanford University?

Mm hm. And I developed Superstring Theory. I also have a Masters in Chemistry from MIT. I invented an alpha ray-resistant coating for electronic circuitry used in deep space NASA probes.

What, you don't believe me? What are you, some kind of conspiracy theorist? You're going to launch these personal attacks and insult both me and our distinguished company with your gauche demands for proof? I suppose you'll want to see my bank statement, too. Good God. Or are you an LGBTCCRAD hater? Hmm? Is that it, then? Your dark heart is just spewing forth its hate and you seek to confound me at every turn?
At a recent town hall meeting. Rep. Vicky Hartzler (R-MO) told a crowd that she is not convinced that President Obama’s birth certificate is legitimate (video below).
Rep. Hartzler said: “I don’t know, I haven’t seen it. I’m just at the same place you are on that. You read this, you read that. But I don’t understand why he didn’t show that right away. I mean, if someone asked for my birth certificate, I’d get my baby book and hand it out and say ‘Here it is,’ so I don’t know.”
http://www.prisonplanet.com/video-rep-vicky-hartzler-doubts-pres-obamas-birth-certificate.html

I could easily insinuate myself into the rarefied upper strata of this tony little town's social circles. If I were a bit more venal than I am, I'd be at parties within a week, talking people up about all my patents and the licensing fees that pour into my bank account. I'd be dating their pretty daughters and driving the spare Mercedes and tagging along as the family vacations to Fiji. My own six degrees of separation.

My moral obligation ends at pointing out that there is a garden variety flim-flam artist in the White House. Like happening upon a street corner con job in progress, I am obligated to stop and point out the scam.

To some extent, I respect a con artist. It's a line of work, like anything else. If the marks insist on continuing with their fleecing, all I can do is smile, give a salute, and say, "Brother, you take these suckers for all they're worth. They are dummmb, dumb, dumb."

Contrary to what some may believe, it is the more intelligent and more self-regarding among a population who are the most easily conned. The stupid ones know they're stupid. So they're always on the lookout for the next scam.

But the smart ones know they're smart. So obviously no one could sneak up on them and pull a scam. It is theoretically impossible, don't you see. And they will resist acknowledging that they've been conned. To acknowledge that they've been taken for a ride would mean that they're not as smart as they thought.

...And we can't have that.

A professional con artist will seek out the smart ones for the very purpose of exploiting that built-in --let us call it-- "Smart Person Con Reinforcement Mechanism."

America wasn't done in by foreign bankers who flew drones into the Twin Towers, nor by bankers who installed their property into the White House. It was done in by suckers who simply refuse to admit that they've been conned, those who continue to lay fiver after fiver on the card table on the street corner.

Americans are both too smart and too dumb to have their own country.

You just keep rackin' up the wins, don't you?