A Moral Conundrum

Tonight at 9 Foz the Hook will play a smoking Black Wednesday set at Cole’s before Adam Burke brings The List of Quality Comics to the stage for a night of funnies.  So come on out.  You don’t need to know any more about Cole’s right now.  Right?

So last night I had a great Dawn of the Dead dream.

It started with the Zombie Apocalypse, at night, on the manicured front lawns of a suburban neighborhood.  I wasn’t one of the zombies, which is unusual for my dreams.  Usually, whether it’s a vampire dream or a ghost dream, or whatever, I am the thing it is about.  Revealing, huh?

Anyway, this time it was Zombie Apocalypse, and I was one of the live ones who were running away.  I was trying my best to remember everything I learned about surviving the Zombie Apocalypse from Dawn of the Dead.  I would probably have done better if I tried to remember the lessons from Zombieland.  They were more useful.  But I belong to certain generation, and our zombies were slow and went to the mall.

We ran across these suburban lawns, fleeing the zombies in the dark, and dodged into this super modern house.  We wanted to hide from the zombies, but the house was so modern that it had floor to ceiling windows in every room.  Even when we went to the basement there was a sliding glass door that looked out onto the back yard.  So the zombies were all pounding on the windows and breaking through.  We had to make a run for it.

An Old Lady Zombie almost caught me, but I got away.  Revealing, huh!?!?

Then it was morning, and me and This Other Guy got on mountain bikes and went out exploring.  In MY dreams zombies only feed at night.  They were Vampire Zombies!  Me and This Other Guy went down to the old high school parking lot and rode the mountain bikes around.  There was a long set of stairs and we rode down them.  It was really fun, and My Brain really ratcheted up the whole dream-falling sensation for max effect.  It was pretty awesome.

Then My Brain decided to return to the zombie theme.

We were all in the kitchen, cooking spaghetti sauce (not surprising because I made some exquisite red sauce for supper last night.  Ate it over Gnocchi with a tasty Chardonnay that FozSis sent me.  That’s right, you arrogant pigs!  I drank Chardonnay with red sauce.  Just try and stop me!). 

Well, we were cooking and the Old Lady Zombie was starting to get really affectionate with me.  She wanted to sniff my arm.  That didn’t seem right to me on a couple of levels.  But then there was this fastidious Jerko Guy (like Dr. Smith on Lost in Space) who was all “Oh, you have to let the zombie smell your arm because you have to respect your elders.”  I said “Listen, Jerko.  You’re the one who let the zombie in the kitchen.”  And then I listed a couple of other things about him that I didn’t like.

Then I did this:

I said, “Hey, Bob, shoot this guy,” and Bob took out a gun and shot the guy in the head.  There were pretty good special effects on that one, I’m telling you.  Then Bob turned back to the red sauce and kept stirring.  You have to do that or it burns.  Revealing, huh!?!?

Then I had a moral conundrum.  Why did I order Bob to kill the live guy, and leave the Old Lady Zombie upright. 

1. Do Zombies outrank fastidious assholes?

2. Do I really respect my elders?

3. Am I so starved for affection that even Old Lady Zombies seem pretty hot, provided they show some interest?

Only one of these statements is true, and I think you know which one it is.

Finally, go to Cole’s.  I need to know what you think of me.  

Four Score....

Dear Citizens,

Foz the Hook will not be able to sing for you this Wednesday because Your Pal Foz will have to go to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and give a speech or address of some sort.

You see, some time ago President Abraham Lincoln (pictured with his newspaper, pondering topical material for his stand up routine) gave an address at Gettysburg, and while it was fine for awhile, it is starting to wear a little thin.  So The People have begged Olde Foz to think of a new patriotic speech that will ring down through history for the next 150 years, just as Olde Abe's yeoman effort did back in 1863.

I'm not sure what I will say, but I always thought Abe's counting the years since the Revolution was a good way to start.  I could say "235 years ago..." or "Eleven score and fifteen years..."  or "Away back when..."

Also, Abe wasted a lot of time talking about America and stuff, and not nearly enough time publicizing his album.  At that time Abe was pushing an album of stand up called, Old Abe's Laughable Jokes and Gut-Busting Rhymes.  As you know FtH is publicizing our first album, Gin-Soaked Yankee and Other Disgraces.

Abe's Gettysburg Address was actually a commercial disaster, even though the patriotic stuff had some staying power - I guess.  He just didn't know how to monetize it, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, Olde Foz will be in Gettysburg instead of Chicago, so there will be no music show on Wednesday at Cole's.  There will still be comedy with Cameron Esposito and Adam Burke and - to use Abe's phrase - a shit ton of awesome comics!  So come on out.

It is your patriotic duty.

Altomania!

Heyo, Hep Cats!

Tonight Your Sweet Daddy-Ohs, FtH, are cooking up a hot set of cool Jazz licks for Cole's Hippy-Dippy Comedy Open Mic.  It will be a Be-Bop experience in the back room of Cole's as Foz joins Patrick "Sassy" Stonedhouse, and "Philly Joe" Larry Drennen in welcoming the acerbic alto stylings of Bill "He also plays the saxophone and he's pretty darn good" Bullock.

You will want to break out your best beret and grow a quick goatee by 9 tonight, as Foz the Hook rips through a jagged cutting session that will leave you jacked up like hot daddy sweet shoe sweat shop smack-soaked hip-doodle*.  You know what I mean, Babyyyyy!

Right after your Jazz-Smack-Pushers, FtH, lay down some sweet lines, your hip-slipped Lady-Momma comic queen, Cameron Esposito will split your side mullet down the middle with JOKES that would make you laugh if you were not already wallowing in the heroine haze of Billy Bull's sweet sax sounds. Check out Billy's awesome publicity pic (above) with his classic 1950's alto (in the 50's trumpets were called saxophones - I can't explain it now), and his then-girlfriend, Marilyn Monroe (in the 50's young women whose cheeks were surgically attached to a horn player's forearm were all called Marilyn Monroe - Again, I don't have time to explain it).

Unless, of course, Smack-Daddy Adam Burke, the poet word-smith of Logan Square blows your mind with brain musings milked from his brain mule, and served delicious through his comedy needle.

After that there's an open mic.

So come on down to Coleman Brice's laugh den for $2 PBR's and more funny for you, my babies!

*Hip-Doodle was a Jazz term meaning "sounds stupid but doesn't mean anything."  They said it a lot in the 50's.  Ask your Grandpa!  I can't teach you every cultural reference of the mid-twentieth century!