Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Sean Parrott: Funniest Person in Nashville

I greet you as the Funniest Person in Nashville. Ego, you say? No: I was awarded a Fresca, the sign that I am, for a week at least, the funniest person in Nashville, TN.

How does it feel? Strange. I have always had beautiful fever dreams about making people laugh uncontrollably with a mere funny face. Hoped to make guts literally bust (covering the audience in a Gallagher style blood spray) with a gay joke. Wished upon a star that I could create a Pythonesque death by funny. These are the dreams of an aspiring comedian: to be a genocidal comedy killing machine. But I never thought about the responsibility of a title like "Funniest Person in Nashville." Jeff Foxworthy lives in Nashville and he made a billion dollars off of comedy (so he must be funny right?) What if Dave Chappelle happens to stop in Nashville this week? He is one of my favorite comedians and a certified genius. If I happen to run into either of these titans at Coyote Ugly, do I have to battle them in a no-holds-barred-bareknuckle-comedy showdown? The answer is YES!

Have no fear folks! I have created a brilliant strategy to use their powers against them: fight fire with fire!

Picture the scene: I am walking through Coyote Ugly (Nashville's Premier place to see aspiring female country singers turn themselves into objects in the hope that they can score a record deal or at least score with a guy who has a record deal so they can fuck his wallet all the way to the bank) minding my own business. I order a sprite and a water and as I pay I feel a moustache brush my shoulder. I smell a phantom mullet. My lips twitch, ready to fire. I spin and deliver: "If yooooooouuuuuuurrrr house is so big you make God jealous, you-might-be-Jeff-Fox-worthy." PING! It bounces off of his moustache, killing Bill Engvall. "If yoooooouuuuu built a career on redneck jokes and somehow (inexplicably) rebuilt a career on MORE redneck jokes, you-might-be-Jeff-Fox-Worthy." A hit! A stupendous hit. Down goes Foxworthy! Down goes Foxworthy!

Yet another scene for you to picture: I am walking through 615 (Nashville's Premier place to see Young Buck wannabes brandishing firearms in an attempt to boost their street cred) minding my own business. I order a sprite and a water and (after an onslaught of "fuck you cracka" and "what the fuck you think you doin?") I feel an unexpected trip to Africa, coupled with a possible drug addiction, brush my shoulder. I smell weed. I turn and deliver: "You aren't Richard Pryor!" A low blow, granted, but in his altered state of mind it hits deep and he turns into a pile of mush, weeping and screaming: "I'm rich biiiach!"

My title of "Nashville's Funniest Person" intact, I drive off into the sunset with an alpaca named George. The sign on the bumper says, "Just Married" and tin cans clinkle clankle in the dust as the credits roll. THE END...?

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