Well here it is. My first column for PIC and it's progressing as slow as a retard in quicksand. I hate anything introductory. The world would be a lot easier if we could just strap ourselves into a chair like the Matrix, and upload background information about anything and everything. That way you would know right off the bat that I'm a needle dick comedian based out of New York City who pays the bills by telling cock jokes and blowing anyone who looks like they might have a dollar. Most of the time they stiff me one way or another. (The fact that I just wrote that joke and thought it was funny makes me want to fall face first into a knife.)

Mike Cannon with glassesI also have a day job which helps pay for my rent, weed, and knee pads. I am an "Office Manager," which is basically a sexy way to say "Office Kunta Kinte." I am routinely disrespected and made to complete tasks that janitors at a school for autistic paraplegics would complain about. My job is an absolute atrocity, so I tend to spend most of the day deliberately downloading viruses through my computer and my penis. That will show them!

Just to clarify, even though most of my humor derives from my obvious uncertainty and insecurity of my sexuality, I do have a girlfriend. Sorry fellas. Currently, she is visiting Barcelona, Spain for two weeks and is most likely getting seminally waterboarded by bull fighters. Whatever, when in Rome….

While she's been away I've been focusing extra hard on stand-up. I perform multiple shows every night. Lately the audiences have been really inconsistent. It's either a sell-out crowd or no more than 4-6 people. There's nothing like telling a joke about how you want to fist the kids from the show NYC Prep to a group of traveling Asians who are eating hot wings with chopsticks. Half the time, they're talking some nonsense to each other and I feel like I'm a spectator on their date with a microphone in my hand. It gets awkward when I start loudly whispering, "Peek down her shirt, I can see areola. I think she's wet bro—either that or she just had a miscarriage." I clearly amuse myself.

Aside from my day job and glamorous comedy career, I am a professional black-out drunk who can make or usually break a party at a moment's notice. I was reminded of my skillz that thrillz this past 4th of July. I drank like a rape victim trying to forget and/or lure another taker. Like everyone else, I was having a tough time dealing with the death of my idol, Michael Jackson. I'm getting really sick and tired of people bashing him for "allegedly" sodomizing, drugging, and cuddling with little boys. The guy wrote "Thriller" and you're really giving him shit? Pobody's nerfect! I can't believe people can pay attention to a mountain of damning forensic evidence, as well as a huge pay off, and overlook the fact that his music still makes us sing and dance today. It's DIGUSTING! Also, considering he took the time to cuddle with these kids afterward completely exonerates him of all charges in my book. My middle school baseball coach surely could've taken a page out of his book.

Mike Cannon superheroAs the years go by, these holiday parties are getting weirder and weirder. One of my buddies actually has a 5-year-old daughter who he brings around quite often. I guess she has to learn about projectile vomiting and people doing rails of blow off of my ball bag some day. I tried to lighten the mood by dressing in a full man-sized costume of the superhero sidekick Robin. This actually had the reverse effect as I was scolded harshly by the little girl.

"Sthuperheroesth don't sthmoke cthigarettesssthh!"

"You're absolutely right," I replied. "I am not a superhero. You deserve a high class hero to look up to. Tell me, have I ever told you about Michael Jackson?"