JoeShow 8
Posted by Joe Rogan on Fri, Dec 16th, 2005 02:21am [archives]
We've put out another JoeShow, #8.
I think it's the best one so far, although #7 is close. Some people like the others more, but pretty much everyone seems to agree that redban is getting really fucking good at this shit.
It's now available in windows media format, Quicktime, and ipod video for all you tech dorks like me that have to have the latest shit.
I should have another blog entry up tomorrow, and some stand up dates for Ontario, CA, San Francisco, and a few more cities.
For now though, enjoy JoeShow #8!
Apologies to all that went to the comedy store friday night
Posted by Joe Rogan on Sat, Nov 12th, 2005 03:47pm [archives]
Fear Factor wound up filming much later than anticipated, and I didn't get out until 1:30am.
It was a pretty unusual occurrence, and I've never missed a set at the store before. To all that made plans, got baby sitters, etc, I offer my humble apologies.
We were filming an unusually complicated episode, and one of the contestants was none other than the infamous G. Gordon Liddy!
75 motherfucking years old and kicking ass on Fear Factor.
Hanging out with that psycho for a week made up for every annoying douche bag I had to deal with on that show for the last 5 years.
I WILL be there tonight, though. 11pm
The Comedy Store
8433 Sunset Boulevard
West Hollywood, CA
90069
323 650 6268
Gangsta Fag!!
Posted by Joe Rogan on Tue, Nov 08th, 2005 06:22am [archives]
As promised, and as heard on the Opie and Anthony show, here's the mp3's of the gay gangsta rapper known only as Gangsta Fag!!
It is seriously some of the most hilarious shit you're ever going to hear, and best of all, he's FUCKING SERIOUS.
This is a real life gangsta rapper that's gay. He's actually a really good rapper too, surprisingly. Sure to make many an uncomfortable moment while you're driving around with your buddies.
bitterwaitress.com
Posted by Joe Rogan on Mon, Nov 07th, 2005 09:28pm [archives]
I was surfing around on the internet today on one of my favorite websites, www.mma.tv and I saw a thread where they mentioned a post on a website called Bitter Waitress.com The post is claiming I'm a dick and I'm a shitty tipper, and that I'm short - which at least that one is true, although to add insult to injury, they made me 2 inches shorter than I really am. It doesn't really mean shit when someone is 6'2" and someone says they're 6', but when you're a fucking 5' 8" runt like myself, chopping me down even further is just downright hurtful.
Anyway, here's the story:
Location: Providence
Celebrity: Joe Rogan
So Joe Rogan, you know, the Fear Factor guy, came in the other night with his "entourage" of skeevy friends and ordered some drinks from me. Okay, since I work at a fancy hotel as a cocktail waitress, I have had experience with waiting on famous (or semi famous) people before. I know the golden rule: Never point out who they are in front of them. Usually that doesn't fly. However, most people are polite even if you make this faux pas.
This is where Joe Rogan just proved he's a *_insert classy adjective here_* One of the waitresses sees him and goes "Oh my God, you're the Fear Fator guy" and he turn to her and said "Yeah, I know" and walked away. Then a (drunk) customer went to him and was like "Fear Factor guy, my son loves you" yadda yadda and he looked at her and goes "Yeah? And?" and turns away from her. She asked him to sign an autograph for her son but he completely ignored her and walked away. Now keep in mind, these were the only two people who acknowledged him, and he was still unbelieveably rude. I've waited on some people who may want not be bothered but at least they entertain fans for two minutes. Its not like either of these people were harassing him.
So I went over after their third or fourth round, and Joe stands up (he's short, like 5'6") and goes "where's my bill?". So I was like, "I just wanted to make sure you were all set." And the guy rolls his eyes at me. So I rolled mine right back and pull the check out of my apron and throw it on the table.
They leave, and I go over there, and the tip was less than 5ænbsp; Are you kidding? You guys drank a lot, AND got free oysters from the chef, were rude to everyone you came in contact with, and now you have the balls to screw your waitress.
I am so posting about his ass on bitterwaitress.com
One last thought -- If you are going to be a *_insert classy adjective you know I would use here_*, then order room service. At least they can get away with putting you in your place.
Now, as for that story on bitterwaitress.com I remember that evening very well. It's really interesting to to me when I see a story told where someone takes reality into their eyes, processes it through their brain filter, and vomits it out in the shape of some sort of virtual, mental maxi pad that's going to soak up the blood of their failed life and make them feel better by twisting their take on things into something that was completely different than the actual event.
It's happened to me a number of times, but I swear I will never get used to how delusional and self centered some people are.
The anonymous poster didn’t name the hotel or the restaurant but I will, hotel was the Biltmore Hotel in Providence, Rhode Island, and the restaurant was McCormick & Schmicks
The actual story was, the "skeevy friends" I came with were the television producer and professional camera and sound men from fear factor. Nice, polite, people, each and every one of them. They were already in the bar for some time before I joined them, and I was literally there for maybe 10 minutes. I had one beer, and the only reason I even had that was because the manager offered it to me, and I didn't want to deny his generous gesture. I left no tip, because I didn’t take care of the bill. Someone else in the group got it. I don’t know exactly how much was left for a tip, but this waitress is saying it was $5.00.
Now again, bare in mind I have no idea how long those guys were there before me, but it couldn’t have been for more than 30 minutes, because all we were doing was waiting for everyone to change their clothes after the days work and meet downstairs at the bar so we could all head out to dinner together.
After reading this “story” I called my friend Peter the producer, and I asked him how many rounds those guys had.
He said one round of 3 drinks. At most 2 rounds.
Again, I would like to point out that these guys never sat down at a table, they were only sitting at the bar.
I came down from my room into the bar, and this loud, possibly retarded waitress goes "Hey, YOU'RE THE GUY FROM SURVIVOR!"
And I said something like "yup." and I walked over to my friends.
As if I'm supposed to sit down and field questions from this dumb dumb for some predetermined period of time because she (incorrectly) identified me.
And if I don’t, then I’m an asshole.
Now, if she came up to me and said "Hey, I just want to say that I like your show." or something along that line, I would have said to myself "Oh, here's a nice person." And I would have said something like "Thank you, I appreciate it."
"Hey, YOU'RE THE GUY FROM SURVIVOR" is nothing more than a warning shot as far as I’m concerned, and you don’t have to let me know you’re a dope more than once.
The weird thing, is that although they think it’s rude that I don’t want to talk to them, they don’t see anything wrong with staring at me and talking, pointing in my direction like I’m some fucking monkey in the zoo or something.
That’s not rude. I often feel like it must be a very similar feeling that a monkey at the zoo has when he’s staring out at retarded tourists with Bermuda shorts and fat mouths full of hot dogs as they point at him. The only difference is that the monkeys can't talk about it on a website, and they can't leave. That’s one of the reasons I hate zoos I think.
That’s fucking monkey prison right there.
But I digress…
To help put all this into perspective, being a celebrity is a whole lot like being a hot chick.
If you're a hot chick, and you're just minding your own business, and you walk through a bar to meet your friends, and someone says "Hey, you're hot!" Most women with half a brain and a modicum of self esteem would just ignore that person and keep walking.
That's basically the same thing that happens when you're famous and you walk into a bar.
When someone comes up to you, or like the story in question, even weirder, when someone that actually works at the place you’re at comes up to you and barks out, "Hey, YOU'RE THE GUY FROM SURVIVOR", the smart thing to do is to very quickly acknowledge that someone has talked to you and keep moving.
That's what I did. And I think we all know what happens all the time when a hot chick ignores a drunk moron at a bar. Almost without fail the expression “Stuck up cunt” will be applied. “Asshole,” to the famous person, “stuck up cunt” to the hot chick. Basically the same shit.
As for the drunk lady that came up to me asking for an autograph for her son and I ignored her, what ACTUALLY happened was that I was having a quiet conversation about some fairly important shit with a friend of mine, and this lady jumped right in and interrupted us.
“No, excuse me, can I ask you a question...” Just stepped right in between us and started yapping, spraying drunken dungeon breath on us.
To describe her as “drunk” is quite an understatement, and her breath smelled like she just ate 150 shit sandwiches and had a drunken mariachi band fart in her mouth for an hour. I still signed the napkin for her son, although I was secretly hoping that he would never get it, because she would be hit in the face by a meteor while arguing with her equally drunken husband in the parking lot.
I also signed some menus for the chef.
Now, none of that “he said, she said” shit is worth discussing for the most part, but what really pisses me off is the accusation that I’m a lousy tipper. The reason that pisses me off is because it couldn’t possibly be further from the truth. I ALWAYS leave huge tips. Everywhere I go. I do it for several reasons; because I feel privileged, and incredibly lucky to be able to make a great living, and I like the feeling of spreading the love.
I also do it because unlike my job, waiting on tables is hard work, and I think they deserve a lot more than they get. I know they get stiffed all the time, and I know a lot of people suck. When someone gives me a bill, and when I give them a giant tip and they have to do a double take when they look at it, and then come back and say “are you sure?” I love that feeling. It makes me so happy. I made someone’s night. I know what it’s like to need money, and someone giving you a $100.00 tip for a $100.00 meal can turn a sucky night right the fuck around.
It feels great, and I do it all the time. I regularly give tips that are more than the actual bill itself, and even if the service SUCKS I at least give 20%.
Now, if you're still reading this story- (and if you are, it must be a pretty slow day at work) and you feel like calling them, and possibly getting their side of the story, I totally understand that, so here’s their number: (401) 351-4500 1-888-344-6861 toll free
If you wanted to visit them and get their side of the story, here’s their address:
11 Dorrance Street
Providence, Rhode Island 02903
And if you feel like emailing them, here’s the email link to the website:
In case you’re the owner of this restaurant, and you wonder what kind of bitter, delusional wait staff you might have working for you that would leave a bullshit, anonymous post on a website, the night in question was Wednesday, September 28th.
By the way, I would like to state for the record that the restaurant has great oysters, and the Biltmore is a great hotel. Obviously this has nothing to do with them.
I'm just sick and fucking tired of hearing people talking shit because they're insecure or angry, or their pussy hurts that day, so they just decide to lash out and lie.
If you're still reading this, and you're thinking "why the fuck does Joe Rogan, stand up comedian, host of Fear Factor and the UFC give a shit enough about what some dopey bitch writes about him to waste his precious time making this website post? Well, mostly because I hate liars, and I had some free time today, but still, you're right.
You've got a great point.
I blame the weed.
DMT and the meaning of life?
Posted by Joe Rogan on Wed, Oct 26th, 2005 08:19pm [archives]
I did an appearance recently on my buddy Jim Breuer's sirius radio show, and I've gotten a fucking shit load of emails asking me about this, and instead of using my clumsy fingers to sloppily try to type out my thoughts on something that’s almost completely beyond description, I thought I would put a link to the audio file up here for people to download. It's easily the weirdest interview I've ever done, and definitely the most interesting.
Be forewarned, it's some pretty trippy shit.
I'll take a slice of Americana to go, please.
Posted by Joe Rogan on Wed, Oct 12th, 2005 04:01am [archives]
I've been doing this new fear factor thing where we’re traveling all around the country making people do stunts on their front lawn. They sign up for it, but don’t know when we’re coming and then, BAM! We surprise them, and give them a chance to win some money and get on TV.
It’s been pretty cool, and pretty fucking weird. We’ve been doing this on an off for a few weeks now. We started out in some mini vans in West Virginia, then up to Maryland to Philly, NY, all up the east coast to Boston, and now we’re cruising through the Midwest.
Along the way we ditched the mini vans for a pimped out tour bus, so now it’s a rolling party making it’s way through this beautiful country we call home.
We’re really getting to see some parts of America that I probably would have never seen if it wasn’t for this trip.
The real America, baby.
Like a stretch of West Virginia we went through, where every other building is a church or a strip club.
And I’m BARELY exaggerating here. I’m talking 4 or 5 strip clubs and 3 or 4 churches in a 2-mile area, and not much else. I guess the theme there is just keep ‘em on their knees, no matter how you go about it. There was a bar there that was someone’s house. I mean it was just a regular house on this main street, and they hung a vinyl Budweiser sign over the front porch, and put a neon light in the front window that said “Bar.”
Other than that, it was a normal house.
Some of the families we met along the way have been right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and it was really nice to meet them, and actually kind of rewarding to see that they’re getting some entertainment out of our goofy fucking show.
Lot’s of really nice, normal, all American families. But the truth is, there’s not much that’s all that interesting or funny about meeting them, so on to the freaks…
The other night we showed up to do a stunt at this house in the middle of the Midwest. I’ll leave out the name and exact location to protect the innocent. Being the ever consummate professional that I am, I showed up for the experience in the perfect frame of mind, helped along by 2 of Evil Aunt Emily’s nearly lethal pot lollipops.
Now, if you’re not familiar with these delightful, herbally concocted candies that I love so dearly, one is enough to coax a charging rhino into taking a nap, and two is so much THC that it feels like I’ve stepped outside of myself and I’m watching my life play out from above me and to my right.
Now, I don’t know why, but whenever I think about being out of my body, that’s where I always think I’m watching it play out from. I’m pretty sure in that “Animal House” model of where the Angel sits on one shoulder and the Devil sits on the other, that’s definitely where my devil sits. Although he doesn’t seem evil, or want to do mean things, he’s just laughing way too much, and way too hard to be the angel.
Actually, fuck… now that I think about it, maybe that is the angel?
Either way, back to the freak show… we get to this house, and immediately the man of the house greets us. He reminds me of the guys I knew in high school that had graduated 5 years ago, but were still hanging around the auto shop parking lot. The kind of guy that buys one brand of car, and stays loyal to it for his entire life. You know, the guy that has that sticker in the back window of his Chevy truck of Calvin pissing on a Ford logo.
He has several tattoos that look like they were carved into his arms by blind retards tripping on acid.
A fresh cancer stick dangles out of his mouth while he tells us about his day.
“Man, I was at the wheelie contest all day, and now you’re here!”
“The wheelie contest?”
“Hell yeah, they had a wheelie contest at the drag strip today.”
“How was it?” I ask.
“Bad to the bone.” He exclaims.
“Some of them dudes really knew how to wheelie. Ya’ll should’a came down.”
Indeed.
I laugh uncontrollably for a solid 10 seconds before I pull myself together again.
Finally I get a grip, and I describe the stunt that they’re going to have to do, which involves chewing up bugs.
The woman of the house (all 20 stone of her) asks me, “Can I take my teeth out first?”
The words out of her mouth were so perfect I had to close my eyes and smile.
I couldn’t have been happier if I had just won the fucking lottery.
“Pleeeeeeease take them out,” I reply.
At that moment, I truly felt like it was as if I had been given this incredible gift; that the universe had provided me with this real, live, brilliant comedy playing out before my eyes.
There was just no way this could all be real. It had to be a show, and I was enjoying every second of it.
Large and lovely digs a dirty paw into her mouth, yanks the fake choppers, and reaches out with them to one of her shoeless kids, “Hold my teeth!”
Her son is the closest to her, and he becomes her lucky helper. He looks down at the teeth now sitting in his palm and makes a face like someone just handed him a skunk smeared in shit.
He backs away from the table, and into the darkness as the next-door neighbors walk up to see what the commotion is.
I can’t really see them clearly yet because it’s dark out, but I see the silhouette of the boy walking up to several different people, and I hear several different voices protest as he tries to pawn the teeth off on them.
“I ain’t holdin’ those fucking teeth!”
“Get the fuck outta here with those!”
Dejected, he returns, teeth still sitting in his upturned palm, the neighbors now trailing in behind him.
The couple completes the stunt and wins the money, so all is happy, and joy is in the air.
Then the rest of the neighbors start to trickle in…
Now, to paint the scene… there are woods everywhere, with no streetlights, and it’s dark.
It’s pretty spread out between houses, and what you would best describe as a lower income rural area.
The neighbors catch wind that there’s something going on up the street, and they first gather up in a big group, and then they start to make their way towards us.
I swear to fucking god, many of them were slightly crouched over as they approached, sporting postures that were shockingly similar to the dudes that wore the monkey suits in “The Planet of the Apes.” They slowly came upon me, heads slightly cocked to the side sporting expressions that were a combination of disbelief and amazement.
They were looking at me as if I had just landed in flying saucer, and stepped out onto this lawn in a beam of light.
There were 20 people, 10 of them were wearing camouflage, 6 of them had NASCAR t-shirts on, and none of them had a full set of teeth. I swear I’m not making any of this shit up.
My smile was getting so big it was starting to hurt my face.
They surrounded me making grunts and whispering to each other before one spoke up.
“Hey man, you really Joe Rogan?”
“Yes, I am.”
“No shit?”
“No Shit.”
(BIG pause while they considered this)… “We was at the wheelie contest all day.”
“How was it?”
”Oh man, it was bad to the bone. Ya’ll should’a came.”
