In praise of a hard, throbbing mic

I’ve been living a lie

I’ve been hiding my whole life dear reader.

Sure, I may seem a fairly public, out there, personable kinda dude - like the kind of man who might do well selling cars or in real estate.

I’m a charmer. It’s easy to get people to both like me and do stuff when I turn on Mr. Handsomepants.

Let’s be honest for a moment. All pants are handsomepants when they’re covering my ass.

You see, I’ve been experimenting.

I’ve played around.

My whole life, I’ve spent time exploring and dancing around the edges of who I really am.

But in fact dear reader?

I’ve spent my entire life in the closet.

In some cases, I’ve done it at weddings.

Other times, I’ve shown up in front of families and children.

Those are the times when I’ve really taken things far too far.

But now?

Well.

I’m not sure how to proceed.

How do I tell my wife?

How do I tell my family?

I thought that maybe the thrill of meeting people as a tour guide may satisfy my craving.

But that work has done little more than to make me hungrier.

I have a deep yearning, something primal inside me that needs to be satisfied.

It’s common to ask, when did you realize? How did you find out?

If I’m being really honest dear reader, I’ve known my whole life.

If I really look at my life, I’ve been this way forever, just unwilling to admit it.

I’ve dabbled from time to time—those few times I tried to come clean felt humiliating and shameful. I immediately repressed them.

But now?

I can no longer live with the pain of hiding.

You see dear reader,

I have been living in a closet my whole life.

I’m a wannabe stand up comedian.

Let’s be honest, at least being gay is respectable.

Wanting to be a stand-up and being too afraid to stay consistent and fail regularly? That’s just pathetic.

I’m pathetic.

The only thing more reprehensible to the world would be the announcement of my new career as an influencer on LinkedIn.

Sure performing for children has been fun.

Working as a wedding DJ gave me time to get close to and intimate with a microphone.

But this summer working as a tour guide?

It was like waking up and finding out that I was gay and missing out on so many hard penises.

Instead?

I’ve spent decades avoiding being a stand up.

Instead of specifically failing in one place that I think I’ve belonged my whole life?

I’ve fought against it.

Do you know how much easier it is to fail at being a handyman? A bad deck just... sits there. Quietly. Not laughing.

But a bad joke?

That’s 200 people staring at you in silence, watching you die in real-time.

It’s like a public execution, except you’re both the executioner and the guy getting hanged, and somehow you’re also selling tickets to it.

Right?

This shit is tough and I”ve been rightfully terrified.

But that’s why I’m here - hiding behind a keyboard and sending emails into the abyss.

Instead of focusing on that one thing that I seem to be attracted to time and time again?

I’ve listened to those who see me as something more.

Instead of chasing the hard microphone I’ve always wanted in my hand, I’ve been playing it safe, giving soft handjobs to other people’s dreams.

I’m tired of conversion therapy. Living a lie has led to a perversion of my soul.

All those well-meaning people telling me I could be more than just a comedian. ‘You’re so good with people, Jimmy! Your creativity and intellect? You could do anything- sales! Management! Mental health care!

It’s like telling a gay man, ‘But you’re so handsome! You could definitely get a wife!’

Thanks, but I don’t want to be straight. I want to bomb on stage in front of strangers for $50 and free Pepsi Cola!

What if?

What if I were actually able to start performing again?

What if I went out to find some laughs?

What if it doesn’t matter if people like it?

What if the only way I fail is by not trying?

My god dear reader, I have a queer feeling all over.

LIfe’s exciting.

What if…

What’s your ‘what if’?

What closet are you hiding in?

And more importantly—when are you going to stop being such a fucking parasitic coward about it?

I’ll see you at the open mic.

Or I won’t, because I’ll chicken out and tell myself the Habs are playing, or my kids need me or If they only knew who I really was they’d hate me.

Either way, I’ll be dreaming about hard, throbbing, microphones that grow larger when played with.

Stay foolish, you closeted freaks.