I think I'm going to continue naming all of my articles after rap(e) songs just for my own enjoyment. This past week has been relatively uneventful besides the fact that I saved a fucking LIFE this past Friday. I was walking to a comedy club in NYC when I saw a familiar sight: a man of poor fortunes was stumbling and weaving through traffic.

Each time the homeless man slipped back into conciousness he'd yell back at me, "I'm awake cracka mother fucker."Normally I wouldn't even pause to give it a second glance; however, this particular bum was smashing into pedestrians and walking as if he had a 100-pound anvil attached to the back of his head. I was with two other comedians and we were hedging bets on how long it would take for him to get eviscerated by a taxi and infect an open-mouthed passerby with AIDS. After two minutes and no fatality, the man finally smashed into a parked car, and seemingly fell asleep. Bullshit.

Ten minutes later, I was outside the comedy club shooting the shit, and tickling the MC so he would give me a longer spot. I turned my head and saw a figure taking a swan dive into the concrete sidewalk. It was the most vicious fall I have ever seen. I ran across the street and noticed it was the same homeless man I had observed a few minutes earlier. I was trying to hold in my laughter, until I saw that the entire right side of his teeth were knocked clear out and his mouth was filling with blood.

There was a shattered syringe, which I'm sure he used for his diabetes, coming out of his shirt pocket. This image should not have surprised me, but for some reason I always thought that heroin addicts in particular had terrific balance. I don't know why I thought that, but I guess you learn something new everyday. Maybe he was pre-gaming with some lower grade H, which fucked with his equilibrium. I'm definitely guilty of a similar practice. For some reason whenever I'm about to smoke "shrubbery" with my friends, I always warm up by smoking a bowl. There's nothing like preparing yourself to smoke pot, by smoking pot.

Anyway, I also noticed a huge lump on his forehead rivaling Hasim Rahman's.

Hasim Rahman

I started clapping in the man's face to keep him conscience while another comedian grabbed napkins. I tossed the napkins at him, because I sure as hell wasn't about to mix my blood with his—I could've easily given him something. Throughout my incessant clapping, the homeless man would slip in and out of consciousness. Each time he came to he'd yell back at me, "I'm awake cracka mother fucker." Charming.

It was at this point that I called the ambulance. The man continued to talk in between naps. "I'm not a bad man. I served in Vietnam. I'm not a bad man. Nam. Nam." Ugh. I immediately felt remorse for this guy, and was upset with myself for taking bets on his life expectancy, and worst of all for losing said bets.

The ambulance finally came and did their business. Believe me when I say that I've seen friends being taken into ambulances before, and in each case the medics' response has been incredibly fast and efficient. These medics, however, hopped out of their truck, noticed it was a homeless man, and immediately slowed their pace and changed their facial expressions from concern to "fuck it, he's barely human." They took their time and loaded the man into the truck as blood continued to dribble out of his mouth.

I went back to the club and was told I was going on in two minutes, so I quickly Men in Blacked my memory of the previous events. This wasn't very hard considering my incessant pot smoking. Because of my love for the mean green giggling machine, my short-term memory is similar to that of a goldfish.

As I walked towards the stage, a younger comedian stopped me. "You know you just ruined your reputation at this club right?"

I stared blankly.

He continued, "Now people are going to say, ‘Huh, Mike Cannon—not a bad guy.'"