-The first timeI ever bombed was
the first time I did stand-up.
And the secondtime I ever bombed
was the second timeI ever did stand-up.
I didn't do well my entirefirst year of comedy.
-I remember thefirst joke I told
on stage, because I still do it.
-It was, "Hey, don't fearthe reaper, because of he's
anything like the Grim Reaperfrom "Bill and Ted's Bogus
Journey," you will have atruly non-heinous time."
-It's about the game ofLife, and how like the board
game always gave youall these successes,
but they never, like, reallyfocus on the real, like,
version of life. "You got a DUI.
Go lose your car, goto jail," you know?
-Yeah, I startedas a guitar comic.
(SINGING) You should get marriedbefore you have kids so you can
make them sad wheneveryou get divorced.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
I wasn't aware of whatwas happening, I think,
'cause I was so, um, drunk.
-Three weeks in, Iwas at a lesbian bar
and I did breastcancer jokes, and they
threw beer bottles atme and tried to kill me.
-The first time I really bombedwas at a place in Topeka,
Kansas called the Double Deuce.
Thanks for laughing at that.
I know that, uh, female comics,sometimes people are like,
all they talk about'stheir periods.
And I'm on mine right now, soI'll fucking do what I want!
-I don't know the first time.
I can remember when ithappened the other day.
-Oh my god.
Yeah, bombing feelslike drowning.
-They didn't like me.
I forgot my jokes.
To the point where Ihad to run offstage kind
of in the middle of it.
-They told me to take myfaggot jokes back to New York,
and I did.
I left without getting paid.
-It was an open micin Tucson, Arizona,
where it was athree-minute set and I
only did a minute of premise.
[clears throat nervously]Uh, you
guys ever go with your friend?
Oh, man, women are weird.
GABE LIEDMAN: Youcan't, like, fight it.
The more you panic,the worse it gets.
-What's up with this heat?
-It was just atan open mic, and I
was, of course, doing terrible.
So in an attempt toget the audience back,
I lept into the air andfell flat to the ground.
-I was performing for abunch of people who had just
come in from a hardcore concert.
Rah, roo, rah, rah.
And I might have saidsomething like, you know,
hardcore music sucks.
Your mothers are whores,or something like that.
And then the guy came on stageand he didn't say a word,
but he very easily pulledthe microphone out of my hand
and smashed it over myhead as hard as he could.
And it made me bleed and ithurt, but I knew I was OK.
So really, the only thoughtgoing through my head
was, that was awesome.
-And it's the most alivethat I've ever felt,
and probably thereason I still do this.
-I'm surprised no one shotme in the face after that.
-Why are you makingme relive this?