Contents

This Week:

TBA

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Next Week:

TBA

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Don't forget to pick up a copy of Brett's NEW CD, "Another Perfect Show"

Buy it for $15 including S&H HERE!

Samples

1. God Is Pro-Life
2. Jesus Is Coming
3. Real American Heroes
4. Git R Done?

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Previous comedic drivel...

Archives

UPDATE

UPDATE

"Another Perfect Show" by Brett Erickson

"Buy this cd and all your dreams will come true."

Howdy Hee-Hawers,

       St. Patty's Day in the home of the Notre Dame Fightin' Irish. Boy. No place I'd rather be. No sir. No place I'd rather be on the holiest day in Ireland than the home of the drunken, brawlin' little Leprauchans. That's not offensive. I found out on St. Patty's Day that leprauchans were the shoe-menders to the fairies. 'Tis true. But weird 'cause I didn't even know fairies wore shoes. I thought they wore boots. That's what Black Sabbath said anyway. And when have they ever been wrong?

Speaking of Black Sabbath, we need Ironman and we need him now. We need his big, heavy boots to fill some people full of dread. I just saw that the Comedy Central Roast of Jeff Foxworthy was stared at numbly by 6.2 million people. Their second most popular show EVER! This is reason to worry, folks. This is reason to cheer for Al Queda. Picture 6.2 MILION dopes staring, mouth agape, at their TV sets like Terry Schiavo. Their feeding tubes gorging them with an endless supply of bland, dumbed-down pablum masquerading as funny. "If it's a catch-phrase, it MUST be funny." In fact the only good thing about the Jeff Foxworthy roast was that while it was on TV all of his retarded fans were home watching it, instead of yelling "Git R Done" at me during every pause in my show.

I know what you're sayin'. "You're just hatin' Brett." Yes. Maybe I am. Maybe I am, indeed. In fact, I know I am. I hate you, Blue Collar Comedy Tour lovers. You're dopes and idiots. Here's a sign for you...if you've ever uttered 'git r done' you might be a redneck.

And I come from a place where that still ain't cool. Rednecks were the ones who would turn you in for smokin' pot at lunch in high school. Rednecks were the ones who drove trucks with rebel flags on the mudflaps, then claimed to love America and hate it's enemies. Rednecks were the ones who turned into cops. I hate them.

Do your own thinking, dumbass.
Wow.
I feel better.

Thanks,
Brett

p.s. Come see me this week in Fairview Heights and yell "Git R Done" at me during a set-up and you'll get a free CD...chucked at you like a ninja throwing star from the stage.

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Hi Dopes,

       As the days grow longer and the sun rises a little higher in the sky everyday my heart warms with the knowledge that we are coming into my favorite season.

Springtime? No.

Tornado? Mmm, I like it, but no.

The Tribulation? I wish!

No, the season that we are entering is, of course, Awards Season. Oops, hang on, this just in...We interrupt this message to inform you that Deep Purple has just been awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award Grammy. Joining Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Lynerd Skynerd and just about everybody else who's ever picked up a microphone and yelled something into it.

The Grammy Awards last night in L.A. kicked off the award season (I know, I know, the Golden Globes were a couple of weeks ago and if anyone gave a shit, that would be the start of award season, but no one does, so it isn't) that heady time from Grammys to Oscars when the rich and beautiful get together to congratulate themselves for being wonderful.

And don't worry. They're all wonderful. Everybody wins. Everytime I looked up from my corn dog someone else was getting a lifetime achievement award. Janis Joplin? JANIS FUCKING JOPLIN? A LIFETIME achievement award? She was in the biz for four years. I've had shit in my fridge for longer than that.

And Skynerd? Yeah, I love 'em. I had "One More From the Road" on fucking 8-track for chrissakes, but the heart and soul of that band burnt to a crisp 30 years ago. And what's left is just sad and fat and--ooh, wait, this just in...Rupert Holmes has just been awarded a Lifetime Achievement Grammy for "The Pina Coloda Song."

And, a free Brett Erickson comedy cd for anyone who can tell me who Joss Stone was singing the Janis Joplin medley with. Was it...
A. Paul Schaffer
B. Billy Corgan
C. Sinead O'Conner with a thyroid condition
D. Gary Oldman from that Dracula movie with Keanu Reeves.

Before you answer, you should know...The All-Star Tsunami Band has just been awarded a Lifetime Achievement Grammy for their rendition of the Beatle's "Across the Universe" (which is where you'd want to be if you ever heard it.)

Well, gotta go. I'm clearing off a space on my mantle for the Lifetme Achievement Grammy my college buddies and I are sure to win for our work as "The Nads" from April of '87 to later in April of '87.

It'll look great next to my Golden Globe.

Good Morning Surfers,

I saw a bumper sticker that said "God is pro-life." Yeah? Well, not if you live near the beach in Sri Lanka.

What? Too soon? C'mon, it was LAST YEAR!

Just kidding. The tsunami is a terrible tragedy that affects everyone. For instance, I had a two week run of Indonesian one-nighters now I've got to re-book. I was going to pick up my new mail-order bride while I was down there too. Now I've got to stop payment on the check, which means an extra trip to the bank. And I've got a lot of other stuff to do today.

Remember that episode of Gilligan's Island where the surfer washed up on shore and, after Ginger and Mary Anne finished giving him a rimjob, the professor said he could ride a giant tsunami all the way to civilization and rescue? Remember that? Well, it's NOT SO FUNNY ANYMORE IS IT, MISTER!

For real tho'...over a thousand miles of beach was hit by that massive wave. And it happened on a Sunday morning, which means...there had to be surfers. "Man, there's no good waves today. This su- ooh, wait...here comes one....Whoa, wow. This is the BEST wave I've ever been on. I wish my girlfriend could see me, but she's all the way back at her house...ooh, there's her house. "Hi Honey. Check it out, I'm riding the-oh hey, look out for that...other...house."

I'm just kidding. This whole thing has taught us all one very valuable lesson. Tsunami starts with "t".

'Til next time...keep your feet on the ground and stay out of the water.

Sherwood Shwartz's long-lost son,
Brett

THE REASON FOR THE SEASON

...and an angel appeared unto them and said, "Behold, unto you a uh, a uh, um, a...a oh, what was it? a uh, aww crap. I can't remember."

And the shepherds said, "Was it something good?"

And the angel said, "I said I can't remember, sheez."

"Was it something from God?" the shepherds asked."

"No, it was from your cousin Phil. OF COURSE, it was from God, I'm an angel for chrissakes!"

"Well, ya don't have to be a dick about it," the good shepherds cried out in unison. "We're just tryin' to help you remember."

"...just tryin' to help you remember," the angel mocked under his breath. "Fuckin' shepherds. Stupid as they are smelly." Why do I always get stuck making these stupid pronouncements to these brain-dead hillbillies? he thought. Why can't I get any of the good angel jobs like harp player or bouncer? Why do I always gotta comedown to this shit hole? The earth sucks! It stinks. It's cold. And, worst of all, it's full of people. Ewwww. The whole point of being an angel is to get the fuck off of earth and into heaven, but he knew the only way to do that right now was to remember this pronouncement. "OK, OK," he said in his most majestic voice. "Let's see, it was 'unto you a uh, a uh..."

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" cried the lowly shepherds.

"SHUT-UP!" bellowed the angel striking one of them dead with a lightning bolt he'd copped from the heavens when God wasn't looking. "I'm tryin' to think here. Let's see, seems like it was something about a Beth somebody. Any of you know a Beth?"

The good and lowly shepherds trembled below him. "There's a Beth at the slaughterhouse," said one. "No," said another, "that's Betty." "Are you sure?" said the first. "Seems to me like it's Beth." "No," said the second, "it's definitely Betty. I know 'cause one time I--"

"SHUT UP!" screamed the angel, his heavenly voice echoing over the rolling countryside. "Will you fucking stupid backwards-ass, corn-fed morons PLEASE, shut the fuck up so I can think?"

And a hush fell over them as the angel drummed his immortal fingers on his chin. He thought and thought but nothing came to him. I've really got to start paying more attention during meetings, he thought.

"Could it be something about how our pathetic, lives will someday have meaning?" a particularly bold shepherd asked through quivering lips.

"Yeah, probably," said the angel. He thought some more. Quiet seconds turned to minutes. Jeez, this is embarassing, he thought. If word gets out I couldn't remember a pronouncement I could be cast out of heaven forever. "Oh, yeah, NOW I remember," he said clearing his golden throat, "Stop fucking the sheep."

And then he disappeared.


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       Hey, did ya here about the guy the other night in Columbus, OH who stormed the stage and shot the guitarist for "Damage Plan" to death? I don't know who he is, but I know what he needs...bail money and Metallica tickets.

OK, OK, I know they shot the guy to death, but I can dream can't I?

Have you seen the new Hardee's commercial where the girl in the halter top demonstrates her ability to eat a new Hardee's Monster Burger by sticking her entire fist into her mouth? If you can watch that without rubbing your cock, you're a better man that I (or you're not a man at all.) I'm not more likely to buy a Monster burger, but goddamn ladies, I'll buy you one. So long as you let me watch you eat it while not wearing pants. Grrrrrarrrrrr!

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My Fellow Americans,

       It was nearly 30 years ago that George Carlin started making comparisons between war and football. It was funny because it was true. War IS like football. A platoon of soldiers heading into battle IS like an NFL defense taking the field. Your captain barks out orders. Positions his players precisely. Then, at the snap of the ball, the battle begins and each soldier must execute his job flawlessly, bearing the brunt of the opponent's attack to capture the ball carrier. That's why former NFLer Pat Tillman was perfect.

Tillman, you may recall, left the NFL's Arizona Cardinals (and $3,600,000) to become an Army Ranger and hunt for Osama Bin Laden. He was shot to death by his own troops last April in Afghanistan. In sworn statements from the Rangers who fought next to him, the last few moments of Pat Tillman's life ought to make you cringe if you hold out any hope of ever finding OBL.

Tillman's platoon was split in half and Tillman's group was under heavy fire. When he realized they were being shot at by their own guys, Tillman detonated a signal grenade and began shouting, "Cease Fire! Friendlies!" The barrage of gunfire eventually stopped. Tillman stood up and even started chattering in relief. Then, the hail of gunfire erupted again. The Ranger closest to Tillman through all this says, "I could hear the pain in his voice. He kept shouting, 'I am Pat fucking Tillman, damn it!' He said this over and over again until he stopped."

Wow.

Can you imagine how frustrating that must have been? to have your last thoughts be, "Jesus Christ, these guys are dumber than the Arizona Cardinals!"

For years Tillman was captain of the defense of one of the worst teams in the NFL. A team that had squandered leads, fumbled away chances, given up long runs and deep bombs for touchdowns. A team that was so bad it had to move. A team that has been stacking up losses like Kirstie Ally does pancakes since long before they left St. Louis. So Tillman had to think that salary issues aside moving from the Arizona Cardinals to the Army Rangers was a step up.

Woops.

To do to Pat Tillman on the football field what his own troops did to him on the battlefield would be like tackling the middle linebacker. Then, while Osama's running the other way with the ball, letting him up and...tackling him again. This time with a cut block that blows out his ACL ending his career. Even the hapless Arizona Cardinals never did that.

Poor bastard. They say he's a hero, but to me he seems like a regular guy. Just tryin' to do his job, but continually thwarted by the ineptitude of morons.

Here's to ya, Pat. I know your pain.

'Til next time, suckers
Jimmy the Geek

P.S. - By the way, I know Tillman was a safety and not a middle linebacker, but middle linebacker's funnier. So, if that's what you're thinking right now, go back to your fantasy football site and leave the thinking to others.

Hi Kids,

       I'm nervous. Director of Homeland Security Tom Ridge has resigned! RESIGNED! Oh captain, my captain. Who will protect us now? WHO?
Me. That's who.
I'd like to officially throw my terror-hatin' hat into the ring to replace Tom Ridge as the next Homeland Security Director. And why not, I'm good with colors. I rarely get confused at traffic lights anymore and I hardly ever eat yellow snow 'cause I think it's just spilled orange drink. I'm in! Actually, it doesn't matter because I would change our terror-alert system from the color-coded scale they use now (which no one understands) to a sliding scale that everyone could easily get. It would go from "Take a Muslim To Dinner" to "Lookout, Osama's Right Behind You!" Think of all the confusion this would clear up... "Hey, Brett, what's it like out there?" "Um, it's OK today. Go ahead, take a muslim to dinner." "Wow. Thanks Brett." God, America is lucky to have me

'Til next time, suckers
Your man, Friday

P.S. - By the way, Osama IS right behind you.

Good morning, America,

       Very rarely would I ever feel compelled to vault someone into the realm of hero status, especially someone from the morally bankrupt world of entertainment, but that all changed this weekend. This weekend I saw an entertainer breakthrough that elusive 4th wall and, finally, give the audience what they so richly deserve. A beatdown.

Thank you, Ron Artest.

Hopefully, you've started a trend that will, finally, liven up the staid, boring world of live perforance. I mean, hey, I'd gladly plunk down $115 the next time the Eagles wanna get back together and tour, if I thought for a second there was a chance Don Henley would climb his ancient ass over that drum set and brain somebody with a drumstick for getting the words to "Hotel California" wrong. "It's...'haven't had that SPIRIT here since 1969. Not PARROT. You fucking asshole! AAAARRRRGGG!!!"
Celine Dion charges $200 for a ticket to her Las Vegas Craptacular. A rip-off, unless she tears off her gown and tries to feed it to some drunken prick who was leering at her from table 13.
Hell, I'd even start going to church again if I thought there was a chance the preacher would leap over the pulpit and start "teaching" his flock about Jesus one crushed skull at a time.
The Stones almost had it right at Altamont in 1969 when they got the Hell's Angels to stab hippies in exchange for acid and beer, but as with all things in the sixties, the really revolutionary ideas never quite took hold. Pray now they will. No, really. Pray they will. To Jesus, too. Not some insignificant saint or angel who probably can't get anything done up there. I know I will. For I long for the day when it will be culturally acceptable for me to take "comedy" into my own hands the next time some jerk-off yells "Git R Done" at me during a set-up. 'Til then, I'm left only with my razor-sharp wit and guile.
And the bouncers.

Yours in Christ,
Larry the Plumber Guy

Greetings Morons,

       Wow, what a night! Nearly 70 people avoided tha hilarity of the Dave Attel show at the "theatre" (pronounce with snotty tone) and braved the depravity of the Jukebox Comedy Club last Saturday night. I thank you. Coming to see me tell jokes when Dave Attel is in town is like watchin' a kid flatten nickels on the railroad track while a really good artist is doing something really good across the street. Some people actually said I should be embiggened by the fact we were both playing Peoria at the same time. Yeah. The difference being that after he finished his 3rd joke he had made more money than I would all weekend. (And I was probably averpaid.) Regardless, like Bob Seger at Cobo Hall, we rolled the 18-track outside and recorded every awkward silence and drunken heckel. (Relax, I meant to spell it that way. Believe me, the people who heckle me would.) A brand new cd will be more or less ignored by the general public very soon. Thanks to Dan and Lenny and all Jukeboxers. To Fish for the fine job recording and to Rob for all the Jagermeister (fist to the sky..."Damn you Rob.)

Your comedy whore,
Jo-Jo

p.s. See you at the Treehouse in Bloomington this weekend.

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It Was Funny When It Was Happening To Travis,

       So, you wanna be a comedian? The glitz, the glammer, the bright lights...Let's just say, hypothetically, that you do. You work real hard, plug away for a few years until, finally, you get that one shot. The Rock Falls, IL Holiday Inn. Feel the goose bumps, yet? Wait, there's more. Let's say,....hmmm,...let's say the power goes out. Yeah, you gotta do the show in the dark. With no sound system. Your friend Tyson shining an enormous emergency flashlight on you. AND...AND most of the girls you wanted to fuck in high school will be there. Yeah. That should be fun. Now get up there, kid and give 'em hell. After an hour long show the lights came back on, by the way, 17 SECONDS before I was finished. I hate you too, God.

Love,
The Coz

p.s. my favorite part was when the loud, drunk women yelled through the darkness, "You seem bitter! Are you bitter?" Noooooo, why would I be bitter?

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Ciao Comedy Consumers,

Back from hurricane "ravaged" Florida (they should've called it a hurrican't. That's what you get for namin' a storm "Francis.") The real shitstorm hit the Wednesday before when my comedy doppelganger Brett Alan got into a fight with an off-duty cop at an Irish bar. It was great! They were arguing about who was more New York...really, no shit. One is from Rapid City, SD and the other LIVES in Tampa and they were arguing about who is more of a New Yorker. It was beautiful! Then WE got into a fight about why he's always gotta be fighting (my point) and why I didn't have his back (his point). It went a little something like this...

Brett: "Hey man, why you always gotta be fightin'?
Why you always gotta be provin' yourself, huh?"
Brett: "Fuck you. Why don't you ever got my back,
man? I was all alone in there!"
Brett: "Fuck you dude, you wanna prove your manhood? DON'T fight. You know son, you don't have to fight to be a man."
Brett: "Fuck y--Hey, is that from "Coward of the County?"

Then we hugged and went right on drinkin'. Thanks Kenny Rogers. You did it again. Hey, check me in Shreveport. Jason, Andy, Rachel and the gang are GREAT! And there's a REAL hurricane headed their way.

See Ya,
Gallager III

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Heighty-ho kiddies,

       You know, it was 30 years ago that Angus first donned the schoolboy shorts and Bon Scott wailed about how little fun it was waitin' round to be a millionaire, and anyone who knows me knows I've had an affinity for The Devil's Music ever since. That's why I had so much fun tellin' my little jokes at the Justify The Means CD release party last Saturday at the Opera House at Expo Gardens in Peoria. It's one thing to tell jokes to people who came to a club to hear comedy, quite another to tell 'em to a few hundred beer-soaked rock fans who came to mosh. Here's how it went down...

Stage Announcer: Are you ready for Justify The Means?
Crowd: Yeah!
Announcer: I said, Are You Ready For Justify The Means?
Crowd: YEAH!
Announcer: I SAID, ARE YOU READY FOR JUSTIFY THE MEANS?
Crowd: YEEEEAAAHH!!!
Announcer: All right. But first, here's someone you've never heard of.

I'm just glad no one threw anything. Seriously, thanks to Bella, the kick-ass guitarist for JTM who allowed me to go up there when neither of us had any idea what would happen. And a special thanks to Tim Kenagy for arranging the whole thing. He took the pics too. The band, by the way, ROCKED! Check out their new CD, "8 Ways To Express" (after you buy one of mine, of course, he-hee, ahem. Groan.)


Til next time, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the throat of the man.
Brett

P.S. By the way, the reason I was rockin' on Saturday night and not in Des Moines at The Funny Bone is that the club booked me and another guy for the same week. Like an airline, they overbooked it. Unlike an airline, I did not get offered a free trip to Cleveland or a even voucher for a free roast beef at the comissary (sic) for giving up my spot (and the $.) They did say they were sorry, though.

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Salutations Suckers,

        It has come to my attention that you guys aren't really buying these CDs I'm sellin'. What gives? I go through all the trouble of writing jokes, recording them in front of a semi-live audience, erasing the glitches, adding some laughter and packaging it in a cool red and black case that a test group of chimps DIDN'T poop on and for what? So you could sit there, mouth agape, wonderin' when old Brett's gonna finally give ya what ya want? (That titty shot from the last time Stanhope was here.) Fine. Here. Now will you buy a CD? Jesus! C'mon, my kid's got an orthodontist appointment tomorrow.... Hey, I finally saw that movie by that fat guy. "Fahrenheit 9/11" I thought it was just slightly better than "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury, but not as good as the seminal Bon Jovi work, "Fahrenheit 7800." You keep me rockin' JBJ. You keep me rockin'.

'Til next time,
Seacrreeeesst Out!

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Greeting Comedy Consumers,

        My webmaster tells me we have had many hits recently. A number apparently, bolstered by an influx of what Madison Ave. calls "dirty, stinking rock music fans." Particularly, a large number of Goodyear Pimps fans, a strain even more dirty and stinking than most. I love the Pimps and here's why. They're songs are loud, aggressive and short. Too many bands today will spend 20 - 25 minutes "jamming" on a song. Hey fellows, I paid $12 for a ticket, practice on your own time, OK? Even Metallica would only spend 10 - 12 minutes on a song tops and they're fucking Metallica. No, the Pimps songs are short. They waste no time during them. They waste their time AFTER them. It's 5 minutes between every song as Stu and Tony "connect with" (abuse) the crowd. I love it!!!!

        As some of you may know, I do most of my computering at the Morton Public Library. Yesterday I found $5 on the floor. I asked around and nobody claimed to have lost it, but being a good citizen (Hear that John Ashcroft) I took it to the front desk and turned it in to the lost and found. This morning I came in and asked if anyone had claimed it. "No," said the cute girl behind the desk as she picked it up. Cool, I thought to myself as I thought of ways to spend it. Maybe a LARGE Oreo Blizzard today, or a ball of crack. The possibilities seemed endless and made me all tingly. "But, you can't have it," she said. "We have a policy of not giving the money back to the person who found it." "What?" I gasped. I was confused. I had never seen a more blatant violation of the age-old policy of "Finders Keepers." "Yeah," she continued, it goes into a special fund." "A special fund? Yeah, I'll bet it does." Where is Michael Moore when you need him?

Your Humble Servant,
Brett

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Greeting Comedy Consumers,

        I used to think I had bad luck. That was when I was an atheist. Now I see a pattern, a method to the madness, the randomness of occurence is gone and the Almighty has shown his face. You see, a water main break in Sioux Falls, SD flooded the big, brick building that houses Sioux Falls most popular microbrewery on it's first floor. The flood was in the basement. Home to the comedy club. Shows canceled. God is real and He's apparently not a fan.

        I saw a rock band last week that performed a song in which soldiers were portrayed in less than a positive light. After it was over a thick-necked, barrel-chested guy with a flat haircut jumped on stage, grabbed the microphone and said, (I'm paraphrasing here) "I'm from Ft. Campbell, Kentucky and I just got back from I-raq (that's how he said it) and I'm not a Democrat or a Republican and I don't support the government (?...You just shoot people for them?) but I got brothers still over in I-raq and I'll be damned if I 'm gonna stand here and listen to some guys go "Dixie Chicks" on me and my country and I'll kick the ass outta anyone who says any differnt!" No one took him up on it and he wandered away. That's not the point, here is...."go 'Dixie Chicks'..." Dixie Chicks!?! As a verb? Meaning inflammatory and antiestablishment? Wow. Where's Bob Dylan? The Chicago 7? Mostly dead, 'cept Dylan who's probably in a meeting right now negotiating the sale of "The Times They Are A-Changin'" to McDonald's to help sell their new adult happy meal. All is lost. The band, by the way, was The Goodyear Pimps, the song was called "Would It've Killed You To Leave A Suicide Note?" And it ROCKED! The Pimps are the best. They won Pvt. Squarenuts back over with their country & western classic "Will My Fingers Do?" (The story of Hilly's "former" cocaine problem and it's consequences.) See ya next time, buy a CD and check the schedule. God can't be everywhere.

Love,
Brett

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Greeetings comedy lovers,

       Just got back from the 2nd Annual Doug Stanhope Desert Mushroomorama at Panamint Springs in Death Valley, California so I'm a little hazy. Spending three days communing with God via his magic little plant will do that to a guy (downing cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon probably helped contribute to my current situation as well.) Here's a few highlights...I'll give more as they slowly come back to me... The "trip" started when my compatriots--my girl Kerry, Jodi and Chaille, and my comic doppelganger Brett Alan--and I rolled up on the VW Rabbit freshly wrecked by Father Luke, the defrocked priest who has served as our spiritual guide, and his "driver" Isaac. They rolled three times on a STRAIGHT stretch of desert highway 'cause Isaac, dubbed "Johnny Meat Stick" for almost killing Father Luke, got thirsty and reached for a water bottle. Both were relatively OK. Father Luke saved by the W.W.II German war helmet he was wearing and Johnny Meat Stick saved by the mass of thick skull that surrounds his tiny, tiny brain. We got to Panamint and met the regular crew...Doug and Renee--what a woman!--the gang from Appleton...Cliffy and Kim, cocktease Kelly (last year's naked hitchhiker) Mike "Show some respect" Prell and comic Mark Ryan who was either blind drunk or passed out for the entire three days. On that note Brett Alan and I "helped" Marc pose for what oughtta be his new headshot...teehee. Tommy Rocker supplied the tunes and Art from Milwaukee sang a song about Doug to the melody of REM's Man on the Moon that should've been recorded for posterity but, alas we were all way too far gone to operate and "heavy machinery" at that point. The only line I remember, and one that ought to give you a taste of what this tune was about is..."Cleveland Steamer's smellin' nice today. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah." Art you rule! Banjo Randy from last year's Peoria gigs with Doug was there and actually won "King of the Party." An award given to him by the reigning king, Andy Andrist. The party was made PERFECT by meeting the Alaska crew Mat and Becky Becker and Billy and Jack--Jack's a chick. Folks so cool they redifine the word. They set up a pool in their room and we all piled in there and on each other like it was Abu Graihb prison. What fun! Oh, and Chaille painted his face like a clown and ran around naked! (That's how great a party it was gang...the naked clown was just another thing that happened.)

Enjoy the pics and smell ya later,
Brett

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Greetings kiddies,

       I don't know about you, but my brackets are all fucked up. I had Al Queda comin' out of the East. Well, I suppose that's what you get for gettin' your brackets off of Fox News Channel. I got 'em losin' to UConn in the finals so I still might have a shot at the office pool $ but it ain't lookin' good.I did a show last week in Prestonsburg, Kentucky. (That's East side Muthafucka's) And it did not go so well. I told my girlfriend about it and she asked me, "Are they dumb?" And I said, "I don't know...I never understood a single word any of them ever said, so I don't feel qualified to judge. They could've been talkin' about particle physics for all I know." It's true. I really did have a hard time with their particular dialect. It was like listening to Boomhauer reading Dickens. Hopefully Wisconsin will be easier. I wont tell 'em I'm a F.I.B.

Much Love,
Brett

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I know, I know...where the fuck have I been?

       Shreveport! The gang there...Andy, Maytag, Rachel, et al. were fabulous!!! Spent every night DRUNK on Irish car bombs. (Leave it to the Irish to name a drink after a terrorist act.) Then...last week my transmission fell out. That's right everybody, the ole Taurus is dead. I've been car hunting and am going to buy a Cutlass today. See that...Brett buys only American cars (that were probably put together in Mexico with parts assembled in China.) I'll be puttin' the cash on the barrellhead and then zippin' that bitch to Ashland, Kentucky for St. Patties Day. The Erickson's have always celebrated St. Patrick's Day with a traditional Irish/Southern Cousin Fuckin' (The club in Mobile, Alabama closed rather than expose themselves to my comedy. Probably a wise choice.) Anyway, there are a few updates to the schedule...(Hello, Dayton!) so check it out, Chris. (You know your website is huge when you can address your legions of fans by his first name.)

Til next time,
Cutlass Boy

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