Christopher King, America's Senior Comedian: Just in case anyone in my audience is waiting for a phone call from me, I have an explanation for my tardy (yet still legally timely) response.

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.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Just in case anyone in my audience is waiting for a phone call from me, I have an explanation for my tardy (yet still legally timely) response.

It's because I'm off trying to earn a living. Lemme tell ya a little story:

I took up stand-up in November of 2003. At the six month point, in April of 2004, I somehow managed the impossible. I pulled off a one-hour show at the Orlando Fringe Festival to critical acclaim and fat ticket receipts. I proved to myself that I could pull in 250 bucks a show, night after night. I figured, "Hmm. I can earn a living at this."

Toward the end of my run at the festival, a TV producer from Disney Studios walks up to me before one of my performances. He says, and I quote, "I've heard some good buzz about you. I think we can put something together for you." Translation: "You have a TV show if you don't screw up."

As I am not in the habit of permitting anyone, including television producers, to dictate my material, I performed whatever material I felt like performing, which included dangerous political material.

I never heard from him again. And I didn't care. It's not that I was turning my nose up at his offer or that I was somehow holding out for something better. It's that I thought there was room in this world for a quality brand of material. I had things to say. I had material to perform. I had comedic destinations in mind. I always figured I'd be able to sell tickets and at least pay the bills.

But no. See, there's always some tippy-top secret reason why my audience can't buy their tickets, the receipt of which would allow me to hire camera guys and writers so that I might put on a no-foolin' show, something better than this text-based show.

You cock your head, Mister Probation Officer, and you meditate upon this statement: I could have had a television career for nine years by now, making who knows how many millions of dollars in the process.

Instead, I am saddled with losers who invent reason after reason why they can't buy their ticket to my show. You're a loser, Madame Prosecutor is a loser, the judge is a loser, Leahy's a loser, Saunders is a loser, everyone in those kook courts is a loser, Holder's a loser, and Obama is a loser.

We work on the honor system here. Losers have no honor. I understand that now.

The judge earlier said, "Mister King, I am perplexed by your self-defeating behavior." Trust me, so am I. It is perfectly incomprehensible to me how I traded a lucrative career in comedy to speak to the biggest bunch of losers ever to come down the pike.

I will return your phone call when I have time to do so. I'm busy earning a living right now. Relative to my non-conviction by a non-jurisdiction, complying with the terms of my non-probation is at the very bottom of my to-do list.

And Madame Prosecutor can wave this around in court without having had the decency to buy her ticket to my show. Let's be realistic: She works for the United States, the most disreputable outfit anywhere.

The thoughts of losers mean absolutely nothing to me. You and your fellow audience members need to internalize that truth.

And should you stop by my house, don't wedge your business card into the door. Leave instead the only appropriate thing, which is a hundred dollar bill.

I'll listen to your voicemails and I'll give you a call when I can get around to it. I'm too busy earning a living right now. That's the best I can do.