. . . and once all is comedy, you will find yourself just one stand-up among the multitude doing comedy all over each other, indiscriminate, orgiastic, glazing each other with deliveries, set-ups, punchlines. But change is the only constant. You wipe your asshole every day, shit on the paper every time, and then, cue sinister atonal music, you get the blood. Maybe it's nothing but a tear, but maybe it's also the Heckler Within. And that Heckler Within no doubt has a Heckler Within that has a Heckler Within that has a Heckler Within . . . acute chest pain, things have been ignored for far too long, but maybe you just assumed you'd die onstage . . . in death, you are certain, all will be Heckle . . . cigarettes, grain alcohol, smokable fairy crystals, night after sleepless night, elevate to the winedrinker's crowd, dip precipitously back into the purgatory of suburban beerdrinker assholes, every Heckler Within a Heckler Within a Heckler-but so long as the checks don't bounce, as long as your watch keeps ticking, I mean if you were running low on time wouldn't things start to sludge by, frame rate slurring, Heckle Engine seizing up . . . in some kind of a death, your Hell is all yellow legal pad ornamented in spidery black ink longhand cursive and creepy manchild blockprinting, names and handles and callsigns barbed wire tangling into a ripperly bondage coat, pulled tighter'n'tighter, it'll be good for a viral video sketch to do with "The Passion of the Stand-Up" or somesuch . . . all are Heckle-Glazing all over each other, all over the place, it's a sight to see . . . the Dictatorship of the Heckletariat, behold the bar-hugging hero giving the headliner whatfor, the sloppy drunk college assholes asking literalminded questions about every premise'n'payoff, the investment bros slinging homophobic slurs, the barbed wire bondage coat opens to embrace all of Mindless Motherfuckery's Disgusting Children . . . good write-up in the free alternative weekly, even . . .
