You know that in my line of work there's occasionally an audience participation segment. That's why I've called you up on the stage. I have nothing against you personally, it's just that I'm using you as a stand-in, the law enforcement everyman, the Government Man.
You are going to sit there, right on this stool I've provided for you, and you are going to listen to me.
When my father died in late 2005, he thought I was a loser. He thought I was lazy. Who else but a loser works at a gas station, after all? His final commandment to me was to get my "ass in gear and get a real job."
Got a real job. Had one since the first of 2005. And that job was not straight stand-up. It was a shouldering of civic duty, something we might reasonably expect any responsible person to do. And had my father then been aware of all that I knew, and all that you know now, he would have been very proud of me. And today he is, wherever his soul may reside.
That ...disorder... you call a jurisdiction has stolen every last thing from me. I have detailed exhaustively, down to the last penny, the price tag attached to the privilege of serving this nation. And that's just the monetary value of the material things.
So where am I now? What do I have to work with? What's left within reach? What is left within reach is what I am presented with at this very moment. And that is the opportunity to display, once and for all, that that jurisdiction is without shame; that it has trafficked in death, and torture, and misery for so long now that it is no longer capable of bringing joy into another's life, that it is incapable of even the most simple human kindness.
I want you, and your cop buddies, and your prosecutor buddies, to stand tall and announce to the world, in the loudest voice you can muster, that you are incapable of placing a simple, ten-dollar bouquet of flowers on someone's doorstep, the doorstep of a man who has begged you for years for the slightest moral support in his civic undertaking.
I stand in my own defense. And I demand that you and your guild endeavor to stand in yours.
I suggest that you shoehorn into my psychological profile the truth that I will not be ignored. I will not be ignored by you or by those who slip into my theater to jot their notes and to threaten to indict me for quoting myself; to secretly record utterances they would otherwise refuse to acknowledge lest the knowledge of my words make it incumbent upon them to shoulder a minuscule portion of my burden.
You can't do it, can you? You can't acknowledge me because to do so would be to acknowledge all that about which I have spoken for seven years. And that is why you cannot lay a simple, ten-dollar bouquet of flowers on my doorstep, an act that would mean all the world to me. Because that one, seemingly insignificant act would prove the most devastating undoing of the entire, monstrous past decade.
That's it, isn't it? And who needs that kind of trouble?
I apologize to one and all. But on this matter I remain quite resolute. It is a matter of personal integrity and I will not budge. Everything is on hold until I determine whether that jurisdiction can muster the necessary courage by Thursday morning.
And when I wind up back in prison, Mister Saunders, and when people ask why, you can say, "Chris is in prison because we became the monsters he had always warned us about. It became simply less expensive, all things considered, to ruin his life rather than to ruin ours. It was simply less expensive to incarcerate him than to lay flowers on his doorstep."
You give me those flowers or you give me the belt --whichever is more in keeping with your nature. But either way, I will not be ignored. And I will not leave here empty handed after seven years' effort.
You give me whatever you think I deserve. I'll content myself with that.
I am Christopher King. I am America's Senior Comedian and One-Man Weapons System for Truth.
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."
"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.
