I Want To Be The Fat Olsen Twin

I have made it to the finals of the Funniest Person in Baltimore Contest. Yeah for me. The finals take place Wednesday, November 7th at 8pm at the Baltimore Comedy Factory. Before I beg and plead for you to come and vote for me let me first give you a little insight as to what this contest is all about and what it can mean / do for the winner.

The Funniest Person in Baltimore contest is to comedians what the Academy Awards are to actors, what a Grammy means to a musician or what winning best group anal scene is to a porn star. It's that fucking big. This contest has launched the careers of countless comedians, entertainers and great Americans.

The contest began in 1840. Abraham Lincoln was the inaugural winner. He went on to become President and abolish slavery. In 1900, Orville Wright won the contest. Three years later he became the first man to ever take flight in an airplane.

1934 was a groundbreaking year for the FPIB contest. For the first time ever a black comedian won. He closed his set with an amazing impression of Hitler getting fucked in the ass, "D'Ass is good!" Two years later he won a record four Gold Medals in the 1936 Summer Olympic Games in Berlin, Germany in front of, yeah...you guessed it....Adolph Hitler himself. That young comics name was Jesse Owens.

1975 turned out to be the most controversial finals in the FPIB's history. As the judges tallied the votes there was speculation that not all the votes were being counted correctly and some weren't even being counted at all. Some even claimed that black voters were being turned away and not allowed to vote at all. The vote was the closest the contest had ever seen. As the winner was announced many booed and the runner up, an upstart comic named Tom Myers, was seen pointing at the winner and screaming, "Karma's a bitch Al Gore!" The rest is history.

My favorite year has to be 1986. No comic ever crushed harder at the Baltimore Comedy Factory than the winner did that night. His set was full of energy, vigor and groundbreaking racial satire. That night Michael Richards was the funniest person in Baltimore. Four years later he was Kramer. Last November marked the 20th year anniversary of Michael's superb victory. To honor that night and that victory, Michael performed at the Laugh Factory in LA doing the exact same set he had done 20 years earlier on that glorious night in Baltimore. Unfortunately, in one of life's cruel twists, things didn't go quite as well. I guess the Laugh Factory is no Comedy Factory.

Many others have won this prestigious award including George Carlin, Dave Attell, To Catch a Predator's Chris Hanson, the drummer from Hanson, TV's Benson, the fat Olsen twin, Bell, Biv and Devoe, and the guy who wrote the Greatest American Hero theme song. The list goes on and on.

Unfortunately, for every winner there are countless losers. And as uplifting the stories have been for the winners, they can be just as tragic for the losers. Take Joe Robinson for example. Joe was a great comic and an even better person. A better friend a new comic couldn't find. Joe was always there for the newbies. Always encouraging, nurturing and pleading with you to never give up on your dream no matter how shitty your act was. No matter if you work nights at 7-11 and bomb at every show. He was an inspiration to all of us. But everything changed the night of the 2005 FPIB Finals. Joe came in an oh so close second place. There's no shame in that but Joe didn't see it that way. The warm and caring Joe Robinson that we all loved and admired was no more. The Joe that would once put his arm around a fellow comedian and tell him it'll be better next time turned into a Joe that would go out of his way to shit on a comics dream. His advice went from positive to angry and unsolicited. He would often pick fights with comics and belittle them just to make himself feel good. Two years ago Joe Robinson was on his way. So where is Joe Robinson now you ask? Try, completely out of comedy! Good riddance I say. I hear he's doing midnights at some crappy radio station playing shitty Nickelback records with some co-host he'd never met before. A crueler fate I cannot imagine.

So that brings us to Wednesday, November 7th. I need your support people. The audience plays a part in the voting making it crucial to bring people. So I am begging, pleading for you to come out. Bring your friends. Have them bring their friends. I need an army of Rob Maher fans. I need to win this contest. I need the 2,000 bucks you get for winning. I need the fame and notoriety that this contest has proven time and time to give. I need the launch and boost this will inevitably give to my career and my otherwise miserable life. I ask you to please help me win. I want to be the funniest person in Baltimore. I want that list of winners to read, Lincoln, Wright, Owens, Richards, Hanson, other Hanson, Carlin, Devoe,……MAHER. I want this bad. But even more than that, I don't want to be, can't fathom being, can't stomach the thought of turning into Joe Robinson. I don't want to be Joe Robinson. I want to be the fat Olsen twin. Please, make my dream come true and my worst nightmare not. Thank you all.

....I Think I Am In Love

It was another eventful Saturday for me this past week. My day went from 8am to 6am but it was well worth the lack of sleep. The day started with me having to teach my driver improvement class. It was a packed class, which means more money for me and more chances to sexually harass a student. I eat lunch at this excellent Mediterranean place right next door. I sit at the bar and no I didn’t have a drink. This girl from my class walks in. We make eye contact and then she comes and sits next to me. We make small talk until the bartender comes by. She orders a rum and coke. She orders alcohol right in front of me! And a double at that. I guess that just shows how little respect I garner if one my students is going to drink right in front me when there’s still four more hours of class to go. She told me she needed a drink to get through my boring class. She makes an excellent point, it’s an incredibly boring class and I add nothing to it. We get to talking some more and yadda, yadda, yadda I will be visiting her soon at the restaurant she works at. I bought her the rum and coke with strict instruction that she returns the favor when I come visit her. I wonder if it’s against some sort of rule for the instructor to buy the student alcohol mid way through the class? Oh well. An alcoholic who’s easy on the eyes, I think I am in love Kristin. I see sex in our future.

After class, I head over to Ned Devines to get the show started there. In classic Ned Devines fashion the crowd is sparse. Sparse is a nice way of saying shitty. To be fair, the people that were there were into it and fun. There were two girls sitting right up front. I tell them I need them to laugh and I promise I won’t pick on them. I sense a lot of skepticism from one the girls, Sylvia. She was a feisty one and I like that. I take the stage and wish happy birthday to one of the guys in the crowd. I then point to Sylvia and her friend and tell the birthday boy the strippers are here. I went up there with every intention of honoring my no pick on promise to the girls yet, literally 10 seconds in and I am calling them strippers. Classic me. Sylvia, of course, immediately calls me out. I attempted to explain that being called a stripper is a compliment because you have to be really hot to be a stripper, so… you’re welcome. Amazingly, that nugget of genius logic didn’t resonate with Sylvia. I spent my entire set hitting on/debating/arguing with her only to have her continuously reject/poke holes in/one up me. What a turn on. A feisty bitch that fight’s back and wins, I think I am in love Sylvia. I see sex in our future, just not with each other.

Moving on to the real strippers. I have to leave Ned Devines mid show in order to make it up to Baltimore where I will be emceeing an event at the strip club, Night Shift. It was the clubs 16th anniversary and the owner Tony wanted to do something a little extra. I wasn’t exactly sure what was expected of me and I didn’t really care for I was being paid and paid well to hang out with strippers and drink for free. Turns out I was supposed to hang out in the DJ booth all night and attempt to be humorous in between each girl’s dances. I knew attempting to do material would be a waste of time so I decided to interview each girl before they hit the stage and try to get some sexy, raunchy stuff out of them. Take my Q&A with Lexy for example.

Q: What’s your favorite thing to do in bed?
A: Have sex.

Q: What’s your favorite thing to do in a car?
A: Fuck.

Q: What’s your favorite thing to do in a tree house?
A: Eat pussy.

You can’t make up better answers than that people. The crowd however, couldn’t care any less about my little interviews. They just wanted nudity. I asked one girl what’s her ultimate sexual fantasy? She says she want to have sex with two guys and two girls in a giant tub of jello. No reaction from the crowd. I ask if she’s ever gotten close to that happening. She says no. I say, “What, you couldn’t find that much jello?” Now that’s fucking hilarious! No reaction from crowd. Oh well. The patrons didn’t seem to like me much but all the dancers, bartenders, bouncers and the DJ seemed to like me a lot. I felt like Tim Robbins in Shawshank. I came into this dreary place full of faded dreams and empty hearts and showed them a little life, a little spark. I imagine they are all missing me today but some birds aren’t meant to be caged. If you ever make it out Lexy, I could use a girl who can eat pussy in a tree house. Get busy stripping or get busy dying. Remember, sexy girls from Night Shift. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this blog finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Rob.

OK, the Shawshank thing was a bit of a stretch. Cut me some slack. I had a great time Night Shift and can’t wait to do it all over again. Free drinks, lesbian tree house action and jello orgies, I think I am love Night Shift. I see me paying for sex in our future.

I leave the club at 12:30 AM. The night is young. I head over to my buddy Steve’s 30th birthday party which is only twenty minutes away. Steve works at 98 Rock and is one of the new friends I made while in Cancun. I was really looking forward to this party for I always love partying with the 98 Rock crew plus I was going to get hang with a lot of my new Cancun friends, like Steve’s wife Stacey, Pam, Lisa, Buzz, JT, Angela and Scott and Shannon. I hadn’t seen these people since Cancun and they are way to cool to not hang out with more often. I had heard that the Huber’s, Steve and Stacey, had an awesome party house and I was not let down. Fucking amazing! It’s more like a compound. There’s tons of yard, a basketball court, pool, beach volleyball, awesome patio area and bar, an ice luge, a petting zoo and a dolphin tank. Those last two were lies. Even though I was getting to the party at one AM I wasn’t concerned with getting there too late. I show up and sure enough the party is going way strong. The whole crew was there. It was an awesome party. I drank, played basketball poorly, drank some more, made prank phone calls, left four messages on Pam’s phone while she was standing right across from me, drank some more, talked to anyone and everyone, insulted a few people, fellated the ice luge a lot, sang Christmas carols, did three sudoku puzzles and took a class on horse whispering. It was quite the night, quite the day. At 6 AM I laid down on the couch and went to sleep the minute my head hit the pillow. I may have been extremely drunk and extremely tired but my dream was clear and focused and sober and full of energy. A girl so amazing that in a day full of interesting women and strippers, a day full of stories and memories, in a day in which I could dream about so many things yet all I dream about is you. I think I am in love Pam. I see happiness in our future.

That was my Saturday. The End.

Me, Strippers and Big Balls

It is good to me sometimes. This Saturday night I am getting paid to emcee an event at a strip club, Night Shift in Baltimore to be exact. Night Shift is an excellent strip club. The girls get totally nude. I am fan of that. And if reading up on the girl’s bios on the clubs website is any indication, they are all a bunch of freaks. There were many wonderful one’s to choose from but I decided to share the lovely Nikki’s with you. Nikki is a 5’4 100 lb brown eyed brunette. I have copy and pasted her turn ons. This is exactly what she has listed on the site.

Turn Ons: Big Balls, Oral Sex, multiple cocks, anal sex, getting fucked up, having my way camping, bathing in a lake and having my bass guitar rammed up my pussy

Let’s discuss. Disgusting! Who bathes in a lake? Do you think she means big testicles or big balls like beach balls? Cus I’ve never heard of a girl who has a ball, meaning testicle, size preference. I have no concept of ball sizes. I have no clue where my balls would land in a ball size chart? If one of the three women I have ever had sex with are reading this can you please message me and give me some ball feedback? What’s average? What’s big? What’s small? Does penis size and ball size correlate? Could a guy be packing 9 inches yet have marbles hanging down there. What if a guy has one giant ball and one tiny ball? Would Nikki insist on only giving him one orgasm? Or maybe she like’s big balls metaphorically. Like if I were to come up to her Saturday night and ask her about her love of balls she would respond, “Wow, it takes some big ass balls to ask me that question. I think I will fuck you and then bathe in a lake.”

Let’s move on. Oral sex is a fairly pedestrian turn on so let’s tackle multiple cocks. That was a fun sentence. I would assume she means multiple cocks at the same time. What’s not to love about that? She lists anal sex after multiple cocks but I think it should be the other way around. If you like multiple cocks it’s a given you like anal. It’s a basic crowd control issue. She also loves getting fucked up. Well, I should hope so. You’d have to be some kind of whore to be sober and want several cocks inside you at the same time.

This next one baffles me. Having my way camping? I am not even sure what that means. I guess she is real particular about camping. Sounds like a real bitch to go camping with. “I wanted at least a three person tent asshole. Haven’t you read my turn ons? Now tell me a fucking ghost story. It better be fucking scary. You call that fire? Where are the smores at?”

All right, now for the finale. Having my bass guitar rammed up my pussy. Wow. I’ve heard of needing more cowbell but this takes the cake. This girl must really love music. A drum stick I could see. A guitar pick’s a no brainer but a bass guitar? I can’t follow a bass guitar in the bedroom. I’m not packing that much down there. If we were in a band I’d be playing the triangle.

Last Saturday night I survived a demolition derby. This Saturday night I will try to survive Nikki. I am scared to death. Hope to be back here on Monday. Big Balls Rule!

Post Demolition Derby Poker Game

After my amazing victory in the Demolition Derby I went and played poker with Joe Robinson and his buddies. Joe is an excellent poker player but he has one giant tell. Whenever he’s bluffing he puts in his mouthpiece. Other than that he’s impossible to read. I figured I was running lucky that day so my chances were good. Wrong answer. All my luck was used up in the Derby. I got roughed up pretty good. Joe was kind enough to show me a little mercy so I was able to salvage the night a little and only ended up losing 110 bucks. I got unlucky several times but I also didn’t play well at all. I think my problem was that I wasn’t drinking or eating junk food. I have been trying to lose weight doing the low carb thing here recently and if ever there was a night to cheat this was it. There was free pizza available, free beer, free pretzels, free chips, free cookies, free candy and I said no to all of it. What did I splurge on? The free squares of cheese! Part of me say’s that’s responsible of you Rob but a larger part of me says that’s pretty fucking lame of you. Cheese when you could have had pizza and chocolate chip cookies? Diet Coke when you could have had Heineken? It’s real hard to be intimidating at the poker table while sucking down diet cokes and niblets of cheese. My table image was that of a nine year old boy with Diabetes. Not quite KGB from Rounders. I deserved to get my ass handed to me that night. I won’t make that mistake next time I play poker with those guys. I’m drinking Jim Beam straight out of the bottle with a beef jerky chaser. We’ll see if they outflop my pocket kings then.

I Was in 50 Car Accidents Saturday

I was in 50 car accidents Sat afternoon. Actually, that’s incorrect. None of them were accidents. I participated in a Demolition Derby in Arcadia, MD with my good friends from 98 Rock. Yes, a real Demolition Derby with real cars and real lack of safety precautions. The event was made up of two teams of four, so eight cars total. Each car had all the windows removed except for the windshield. We were each given helmets. The rules were simple. The last car running is the winner. They advised us not to hit anyone on the driver’s side door in order to avoid hurting each other. That was the extent of the safety measures. My team was made up of myself, Mickey Cucchellia, Joe Robinson and some guy we just met named Don. Scott Donahue was supposed to be our fourth member but he bailed on us yet he was still at the event watching which means he had no reason to bail which leaves me no other option to forever deem him a total pussy. The other team was composed of Scott the Producer, Chris the other Producer, Kerry, who won this event last year, and Steve, another guy I just met. Our team had to be considered the heavy underdogs because we were the only team with a member wearing a mouthpiece. Yes, Joe Robinson wore a mouthpiece. And kneepads for that matter. That’s very Scott Donahue of you Joe. Joe also googled Demolition Derby Strategies the night before. How lame is that? If you google “how to be fag” a picture of Joe comes up reading up on demolition derby strategies while wearing a mouthpiece and kneepads.

We get in our cars and start to drive down to the pit. I am driving a Chevy Corsica, the Joe Robinson of vehicles. Just driving down into the pit was exhilarating. Hundreds of people were cheering, giving us high fives as we drove by. It really did feel like we we’re going into some sort of battle. There’s something about putting that helmet and goggles on that turns everything up a notch. I’m not just some idiot driving an old, beat up Corsica, I am now a racecar driver.

The event starts with us lined up on opposite sides in two rows of four. Everyone starts with the front of your car up against the wall. They want everyone going in reverse at the start so not to get up too much speed for the initial collision. The guy next to you and the guy directly behind you are on the opposite team. I am at the far end with Chris to my right. I decide that I am going to try to hold back for a second and then reverse as fast as I can and try to pummel the front of Chris’s car. That was the extent of my strategy. The crowd counts down, 3, 2, 1…. And it’s on! I hold back a second like I planned and then reverse it right into Chris’s front end. It wasn’t a huge shot by any means but it got my adrenaline going big time. The hardest part was not hitting your own teammates. There were orange numbers on our passenger side and yellow on there’s but unless you see the passenger side it got confusing as to who was who. It seemed like forever before anyone was out. I thought it would only last like five minutes but ten minutes in and almost the cars appeared to still be going strong. I had no frame of reference but I felt like I was doing well. I felt I was giving more shots than I was taking. Don’t get me wrong, I was taking some big shots and was sore the next day to prove it but my car was still handling fairly well. I started to think that I could actually win this thing. A lot of who went out when and who hit who the hardest was a blur but I do remember pummeling Scott repeatedly. He just always seemed to be in my way. At one point he stopped driving his car so I thought he was out. I had a perfect shot lined up but you’re not allowed to hit cars that are out so I pulled up. A few minutes later this bastard is blind siding me. You almost killed me you possum laying motherfucker!

Our team had the first member to go out but after that we dominated. With only four cars left we had three of them, Mickey, Joe and myself. We just started decimating poor Steve. Mickey and Joe actually knocked out there own cars while hammering Steve leaving just the two of us. My car was clearly handling better so I was getting the best of him. I hit him with a huge shot to the passenger side tire. I back up and his car isn’t moving. I look at him and ask if he’s done. He gives me the hand slicing the throat motion telling me his car is done. I look at the judges and they tell me to keep going because his car is still running. I reverse and then accelerate forward right into him again. The judges say keep going. I do this about three more times and finally they waive the checkered flag. I won a motherfucking Demolition Derby! How fucking cool is that? I got on top of my car and waived the checkered flag to the “fans.” I got on the mic and thanked my sponsors. Walking back everyone was high fiving me and my teammates. It was amazingly kick ass cool. Thank you so much to Mickey and everyone at 98 Rock for inviting me to this. I had the time of my life.

Bad Life Decision, Good Radio

This is a podcast from me on the air in Cancun with 98 Rock. This was the morning we decided I should get drunk on the air. I took my first swig of vodka at 5:15 in the morning and didn't stop until 9am. I was drinking a lovely mix of warm Karat vodka and warm Orange Fanta. Karat vodka is just like Grey Goose only the opposite. In this particular 7 minute clip, I blow into a breathalyzer to check my "progress," I apologize to this girl I had offended the night before and Mickey tells me how awful I look for my age. Enjoy.
http://www.98online.com/podcasting/viewChannel.asp?channel_id=112

My Shriners Show

I did a gig recently for the Shriners. The Shriners are a group made up of old white guys who also happen to be freemason. I'm not sure exactly what they do other than be old and have secret handshakes. All I knew about the show was to keep it PG. I show up and look into this giant banquet hall full of old guys in suits. I immediately evaluate the situation and determine than I am going to eat a dick. I turn back towards the lobby and see the most wondrous sight ever. I do a double take for I thought I was seeing things at first. There was this old man getting his picture taken with his arm around these two, young, beautiful, TOPLESS women. My act is supposed to be PG but I am seeing titties. Titties aren't PG, some are PG 13 but these were R titties. They had stories to tell. They take several pictures and then several more when I politely ask to see their breasteses again. Then this other old man introduces the two girls by saying these are my girls. I am thinking, holy shit, this is their father? I've got to become a Shriner. I can be old and racist. How hard is that shit? I now reevaluate the situation and conclude that I will be performing in front of dirty old men. I fucking love it! I am going to destroy. Legendary shit.
I finally meet the guy running the show. He is very friendly as he goes over the show run down. It turns out I am following a Shriner who is getting a lap dance from two strippers. Aha, so those girls were strippers and the guy who introduced them as his girls is the owner of a strip club. It's starting to make sense.
The show begins with the lap dance. I am not sure why they were honoring this guy or why he was getting a lap dance, maybe he killed a black person or something, I dont know but I didn't care. It is now time for my set. I am introduced incredibly awkwardly. I am performing in front of a podium. I am following a two girl lap dance. I am staring into a sea of, "who's this fucking kid" faces. I now re-reevalute the situation. Sarcasm can't follow titties. I am going to eat a monster dick. A viagra, tantric sex knowing, stunt cock, porn guy dick. Legendary shit.
Let the cock feast begin. I bomb as expected. Nothing works. Clean jokes, dirty jokes, crowd work, racist book jokes(don't judge me you fucks, it was rough up there), nothing works. I comment that I need a drink. In like 30 seconds I have a shot of whiskey in front of me. Then another and another and another. Fuck! I am now drunk which means I can't leave this awful place.
After my set I go sit in the lobby attempting to sober up. I befriend one of the Shriners who tells me he wants to do comedy. He starts trying out material on me which causes me to need to drink more but I can't drink more because then I have to stay here longer and hear more bad jokes and eat more dick. It's a vicious cycle. The cycle is finally broken up when talks of a poker game start up. I love poker. I can't drive yet. I should play so I invite myself to the game. I am thinking this is my chance to get some revenge.
There's six of us playing. Not including me, the average age is around 80. We are playing dealer calls his own game which basically means we will be playing all bullshit games. We played for close to two hours. I somehow found room in my stomach to eat more dick. It was old ,wrinkled up dick but dick is dick. I only won one hand and that hand I tied with another guy. When I had a flush, someone had a higher flush. When I had a full house, someone had four of a kind. When I had four of a kind, someone had a straight flush. You get the picture. I lost 140 bucks. I made 200 for the show. So essentially, I drove three and half hours round trip to bomb in front of old men and then bomb playing poker with old men for a measly sixty bucks.
I consider myself a good comic and a pretty good poker player. That night I guess I was neither. But there's always another show, another game, another set of breasts to admire, another three and half hour drive to make for virtually nothing, another story to tell. Deal me in.

A Dream I Had

I wrote a bit in a dream I had the other night. I dreamed I called this girl cute and she got mad that all I referred to her as was cute. Then, in the dream, I wrote a bit about the whole thing. I woke up thinking the bit was hilarious and that I was a genius. The bit went something long the lines of her turning into Joe Peschi from Good Fellas. "What, I'm cute to you, like some little kid, I'm cute like a fucking puppy, etc...." I was patting myself on the back thinking, wow, you wrote a bit in your sleep. You are fucking amazing Rob Maher. As the day went along I slowly began to realize the bit sucked ass and was completely unfunny. I then remembered that I had watched Entourage right before I had gone to bed and the whole "cute conversation" was in that. From genius to hack in 7 hours.

ABC Family?

Friday night I was flipping through the channels trying to find something to watch when I came upon Misery. Misery is a great movie but what I found odd was that it was playing on ABC Family. That’s right, ABC Family. I guess nothing says family like Kathy Bates, in horrifyingly gruesome fashion, breaking James Cann’s ankles with a sledgehammer. As if that wasn’t enough, every commercial break had promos for another Stephen King movie that was coming on the next day, It. I can just see the family now, “Hey kids gather around the TV. Stephen King’s “It” is coming on. You’re going to love it little Sarah and little Timmy. It’s about a clown that kills children. You won’t sleep well for a month and you’ll never be able to enjoy the carnival again. Hopefully tomorrow night ABC Family will be showing Jodie Foster’s “The Accused” for I know how much Mom and Granny love a good gang rape tale. Thank God for ABC Family.”

I realize that it’s Halloween so horror movies are going to be on a lot but come on! You’re ABC Family. Family is in the name of your channel! Out of curiosity, I went and looked at what was on HBO Family and discovered that HBO actually understands what the word family means. While ABC family was showing a movie about torture and murder, HBO Family was showing Duma, the tale of an orphaned Cheetah who becomes the best friend and pet of a young boy living in South Africa. That’s right, HBO, the network that has brought us such classics as Real Sex 1-47, Taxi Cab Confessions, Pornucopia and Cat House showed on its family channel, a movie about the love beteween a boy and his pet. ABC on the other hand, a network that has brought us Growing Pains, Good Morning America and Extreme Makeover Home Edition showed on its family channel a block of movies about death, torture and the terrorozing of children. I guess if “Duma” ever gets shown on ABC Family, rather than the Cheetah becoming the boy’s best friend and pet, the Cheetah will maul the child and his entire family.

I think that what we’ve all learned here is that ABC stands for Always Be Cilling. Yes, I know Killing is spelled wrong but if you are dumb enough to think a movie about a clown murdering children is family programming then you are dumb enough to spell Killing wrong.