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I can’t believe it. The pain finally subsided. That was rough man. I have to get a tooth extracted after the holidays and that’s not even the one that just tortured me for the last hour. Turning screws into my gums, I just wanted to enjoy a slider from work! Who eats while they’re in pain, that’s no fun.

It made me wish I was bombing on stage. That kind of pain is ok. I can deal with an audience staring at me during one of my confusing act-outs with maximum levels of flailing. But I can’t block out the pain of tooth #3.

I can fix the teeth. I can fix my reputation. I can’t fix that joke. Time to extract it.

Bombing in the moment, it feels like it’s all over and I let everybody down. My friends on the show. The booker, well, that’s a one and fuck you, you’re done. That one comic that I’ve been wanting to meet and now this is their first impression of me. The couple that I met before the show, they were so excited for me. They didn’t say goodbye on the way out. Even the servers were disappointed, they could feel the awkwardness in the club while dropping off cocktails.

There are many comics that I look up to that have ONLY seen me bomb. People I really like, but I only run into them every 6 months. I want them to know that I’m a pretty funny guy, but yes, I also bomb huge when it goes wrong. Spin the wheel on any given week and there’s gonna be a bomb. Those people always see me bomb. Then I have a good set, but they left early- shit! If you pay attention to shit like this then you’re crazy like me. I have a handful of names that I want to impress because I love funny people. I want to be funny with them.

Posting about bombing on Facebook sounds like a cry for help, but I just think it’s interesting. I know I’m fine, I bomb all the time, it’s part of the work. Maybe non-comics and family members think, “Oh, standup is just not for you Marty.” It’s hard to explain that I have to be terrible to get anywhere. That’s what we forget, we all fucking bomb, but mentioning it is like admitting you’re a shitty comedian or something. It shouldn’t matter online anyway, when you do good at mics, people notice, that’s that. Wait, this guy just admitted he bombed, forget it. I didn’t realize he dabbled in failure, I’ll book Neel Nanda instead. I like to reference Neel Nanda, I haven’t seen him in years. I’m pretty sure Neel Nanda has only seen me bomb.

I’m not gonna post how I kill. I don’t kill, I don’t destroy, I have good sets. I don’t know how to destroy yet. Seems like a lot of comedians do, but I don’t do that, believe me. I’ve seen professionals wait a minute on stage to start their next joke because the room was too busy howling. That seems like a bonafide murder. That’s a killer.

Sometimes the room isn’t with me, but then I’ll see a random couple laughing their asses off through an entire bit. They liked my Metallica routine or they like the horror movie stuff. I just caught a sneak preview of my future fans. They’re out there, just gotta trust myself. Keep writing the stupid stuff that makes me laugh. Do the comedy I want to do. Eat plenty of shit on stage to get there.

I bombed in San Diego harder than I’ve ever bombed in my life. It’s worse when you feel it happening and it’s so strong it interrupts your joke. I actually stopped because it was overwhelming. I started talking about how it wasn’t going well. I insisted a woman in the front row hated me. I dug myself deeper. I sounded insincere when talking about a charity. My jokes floundered. I fucked up other comic’s intros. I got the light 10 minutes early. I bought an audience member a beer and even that gesture looked back-handed. I guess I killed after all, but not in a good way.

The other comics avoided eye contact while it was happening, just listening to me drown. Nobody liked me. Then I did it a SECOND TIME in the same night. It really shook me to the core. Thank Christ I didn’t record it, one of the few fucks ups that paid off, I don’t have to quote my bombing to you verbatim. Believe me it…was…the…WURST. (seven assholes have a heart-attack from laughing so hard)

Every week is different. My ego inflates after a string of minor victories. Then the inevitable bombing sideswipes me a day later, hurling me backwards into the shit. There’s that feeling of, well now my friends don’t think I’m capable of being funny. They’ll forget I was ever good! I did everything we usually mock at open mics. I didn’t trust myself. I got caught up in the words. I never looked at the audience. Fuck, I thought I had it all figured out! Guess I’m starting over again.

Here’s a short documentary I shot about a group of comics dealing with a tougher than usual gig. Bombing seemed like the only option, even though our booker insisted that “If people don’t laugh, you are not bombing.”

We all enjoy watching our friends bomb right? Come on! Yeah you do. I love seeing my talented friends fall from grace every once in awhile, it makes us equals. Or puts me slightly on top, haha! (high-fives nobody)

Understanding the pain, that’s what brings us together.

Just remember, you’re not alone. I saw you bomb. Maybe you saw me bomb. It know it’s awful. I’m sure you’re very good, just not that time. Huh. Next time was actually a little worse. Well, it happens. Three times is definitely not a charm. ….uh-oh.

On second thought, I’ll never bomb as hard as you- YEEEEEEEESH! (pulls collar, makes farting noises)

Here’s a clip of me bombing through a half-idea that I can’t seem to articulate or say in an interesting manner!

4 years 4 months later…

I drove home on the 405, singing to The Beach Boys "Barbara Ann" like an asshole, alternating on the harmonies. I’ve been singing along to this song since I graduated from Maui High School (Class of '98 brah!) and I always get swept up in the happiest of memories. The Beach Boys are laughing while they’re singing, totally unprofessional. Musicians trying to be funny...when will they ever learn? There's a time and place- when you're in the studio performing, you BE PROFESSIONAL!

So what do you guys think I should write about?

I’m happy now because I hit two mics and I had fun at both of them. I feel good about what I’m doing. I occasionally THINK that and then some miserable mic sets me back a thousand years and I don’t know shit all over again. Wait, I think I just figured this- SMACK! I’m starting to get comedy now-WOMP! Last year I didn’t know dick, this year, I finally found my voi-BLOPFUK!

I’m becoming more and more relaxed, putting hundreds of hours of bombing in. Keeping my expectations low, trying to have fun and BE GOOFIER. Trust myself to be more spontaneous and not just saying the words that are over-rehearsed, trying to find new words to paint the picture. Then occasionally phoning it in, but acknowledging it, like when you stray away from meditation with distracting thoughts. Now Marty, take a deep breath and just get back on track when you can...you dildo. You can look up that classic Sesame Street clip AFTER you’ve finished your meditation. You can try to tell your joke in a fresh way at the next mic. Now visualize your dick jokes slapping across the street like a game of Frogger…

Sometimes I’m so desperate for approval of a new bit I’ll ask Claire to watch me. It’s usually pretty painful, but she’s a good gauge of what’s godawful or she’ll see the potential in a bit and try to contribute. Then I’ll shut her down real quick because who’s the comedian here, right? I really think she believes in me (because she told me she believes in me, in those words) but sometimes I just want another comic to say "Hey good joke!" preferably someone with a Laughs on Fox credit.

Years have gone by and someone I’ve admired all this time is on the same show and we finally exchange pleasantries. No ego, just hey- we were on the same show! You’re pretty great. Love what you’re doing. Now you say it back to me. SAY IT BACK MOTHERFUCKER, I JUST SUPPORTED YOUUUUUU (falls into abyss, tongues of drunken audience members wagging and stabbing my mid-section)

I see those late night, sentimental “I love comedy” posts on Facebook every once in awhile and I can feel the cynical cesspool of backlash forming a giant tidal wave, but I totally get it. I had a night like that tonight. I have nights like this at many open mics. It’s friends, it’s the few people that are suddenly looking up at me, who were buried in their laptops a minute ago. It’s a hug from a comic that I love, or some rapid-fire joking going on outside in a semicircle of idiots. Being around funny people. Standing alone at an open mic that I’m dreading and suddenly finding that one person- a friend. They have my back with the perfect line that triggers a bark of laugh out of me, because it’s also relief. It’s gonna be okay because I can still hang with this fantastic funny person.

I got paid for some impossible bar show. I wasn’t told in advance and when I finished my mostly silent set I got a handful of bills. Mostly pesos and a farthing, but it’s amazing to get paid when you’re not expecting it. Now if only I could win some tickets to a Flappers show! (get yer jabs in ya cynical fuck, don’t get too sentimental Feelie Dan!) One comic offered me his hotel room for the night because he wasn't going to use it. Almost made me cry- the room was a shithole!

I think our cat is out of the woods. Tune is napping in front of the heater, thanks for asking. Claire is gently snoring in the bedroom, I assume. She doesn’t snore loud enough to penetrate two doors. Now the cat is lapping water from a jar- one of my favorite sounds in the world. Oh yeah, the Patreon thing is kind of funny. I have 6 subscribers, but I’m enjoying making the videos- kind of a video journal of some open mics I’ve been visiting for the first time. A video review of the mic and some random interviews, testimonials, etc. If you can’t get enough of the open mic bullshit and you’re curious it’s $2 a month to join.

My Patreon

We can’t end this journal entry on a plug though, that’s pathetic.

It’s nice to have a new family of friends in this strange world, but then I remember my friends from acting school or the people I knew through the Geffen or Arclight. Years are going by. Marriages, break-ups, babies, health scares and the occasional tragedy that affects us all. I’ll hear a song or see a clip from some project that brings those people swirling back in my head- oh yeah, there are other people you love too. Maybe I should give them a call. See one of their shows. Stop by for a visit. Finally introduce myself to their ten-year old baby.

I get asked,

“How’s the comedy going?

I usually ramble for a few minutes about the intense highs and lows, desperately trying to make sense of it all and it all sounds absurd saying it out loud, like I’m lying to their face!

You gotta bomb? You gotta do shit mics? You gotta write? Network? But what about the comedy special?

I always manage to squeeze in that one overly sincere declaration of,

I’m in this for the win.

I mean it. Sure I’ve FLIRTED with quitting in my head, but it’s because I’ve been on vacation and it can feel especially troubling going back to a mic after a week of no stage time. It rarely happens and when it does I feel sad. Yet it gets harder to go back for some reason. I never seriously considered quitting. I made a feature film in 2007 because I told myself I could do it. I never said My movie will get distribution. It kind of fizzled out after the completion thing.

But I can do this. I am a comedian. I do other stuff, but if you’re interested we can always talk about it.

Don’t forget the patreon thing. Come see a show- check my dates at Martywurst.com. I have Dvds of my short films, ask me and I’ll give you one. TheWurstTweet on Twitter. Search me on your podcast app. Find me on YouTube. Open Mic Reviews on Instagram or Marty Wurst for my regular pinups. I have old movie reviews on FirstShowing.net. My website has a Steve Buscemi voicemail. I’m in a shitty movie called Death Valley: The Revenge of Bloody Bill. I sang to Jennifer Connelly at a press junket for Blood Diamond. My Google search is pretty great. I made a movie called Salivate- you can’t find it anywhere. I have two audiobooks on Audible- Dark Sanity and Zombies in Love.

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