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Worst Boyfriend Ever

@TwinkBukowski • 22,637 subscribers

Sensitive Young Homeless Man Living in a Van Writing It All Down (I often don't check replies because I'm Scared) BOOK: https://t.co/wFGlA4gTlW

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Got to NYC. Booked a place on Wall Street. I need 4 women from Substack here right now

Got to NYC. Booked a place on Wall Street. I need 4 women from Substack here right now

823,886 просмотров

Saturday - Adam Friedland This musical intro was the best part of the show. The rest of his act just made me miss Nick Mullen. Unlike every other show this week, there were girls there. They seem to love this guy. I used him as bait, to get the girl from Wednesday to go out with me again. She loves Red Scare Podcast and this Jewish twink is a staple of the Red Scare Extended Universe and I wanted to fuck her and so let's go see Adam Friedland. The problem with Adam is that he has no conviction. He does not own the room, he's just filling space. He announced that his father was there, in the crowd, which is great, let's hear something that might make your father uncomfortable. No such thing was said. He stared at the floor for half the set, as if he was sorry for being there. I saw Mulaney the night before; the difference was stark. Mulaney can get away with being a sheepish pushover twink Sometimes because he also has balls. He can accelerate from "Aw shucks" to "SHUCK YOU MOTHERSHUCKER" and both versions of himself feel true. Look, I get it, being a sad sorry pushover is his schtick and it works with the voice and it's very relatable for sensitive young men who didn't do sports in high school but to carry a room for a full hour you also need to be able to fight back. I could hear Nick's intonations in his voice. But it's clear that Mulldog spent all his creative energy this week ghostwriting the white guys' lines for the Roast of Kevin Hart and so Friedland was left to fend for himself, comedically. The mark of whether a comedian is delivering or not, for me, is whether I hold my piss in to keep hearing them. This was not the case on Saturday night. I recall stepping out and getting a good look at the crowd, and Friedland bumbling through his completely forgettable material, and thinking: this makes me feel like I could start stand up comedy today and dominate the genre. I have this instinct to say: Adam's young! He'll get better! But he's not. He won't. He's 39. He doesn't have the neuroplasticity. He crossed the Sensitive Young Man threshold ten years ago. Mulaney at 43 could be his father now. He's a "much better interviewer" apparently. I tuned out after Cumtown ended because frankly I don't give a shit about the middle east, and that's 90% of what he talks about. Different strokes. I asked some guy in the bathroom, mid-piss: "what would you rate this show, out of 10?" He said: ehh, like a 6. He's a much better interviewer. I don't hate Adam Friedland, I just wish there was anybody to be excited about in stand up comedy. Between this mens' magazine giving me a $500 stipend to "report" on all these shows and the $474 ticket to Gillis and the $432 ticket to Chappelle and the $741 ticket to Mulaney and all the drinks they make you buy at these things I'm feeling like a huge sunk cost leech on the world. Just taking people's money and using it to complain. At least my date seemed to be having a good time. I wrapped my hand around her low back and leaned into her head, wanting her but not sure how to say it. It's much easier to express that kind of thing on blow. Later that night I K-holed in public. Erica and I took way too much in the front seat of the van. We were outside a rave at 3 AM, they asked me to produce a QR code on my phone, I could barely stand. I felt like I was moving in 2D. The fat security guard barely flinched as I walked past him in slow heavy steps, like a penguin, marching into this densely fogged room with colorful lights and loud bumping trance music where all I could stand to do was lean against the heavily breathing walls. I tried to dance with the girl but it probably looked retarded. I didn't try to interact with anyone, I was too far gone. I thought of Karen, as I do every time I take K. The girl led me through the venue, as I worried I would fall over or walk straight into a wall. I worried about how bad this must look, how retarded I must look, wearing this huge XXL t-shirt tucked in to my pants that don't even fit that well because I have anterior pelvic tilt and no ass. I looked and felt like a clown. A failed clown. I was smiling painfully at Erica, looking down at her, and she was doing the same to me. We found a bathroom and I forced my way in. The ketamine was NOT wearing off. I felt my heart beating hard and my head spinning like I could have thrown up but there was nothing in my stomach besides liquid—no food all day besides a croissant at 2PM. I had downed some random person's red wine glass at the last bar. I worried it might have been spiked. I leaned with my head against the wall, sweating, wishing it would end, brutally aware that Erica's out there waiting for me, my friends are out there waiting for me, wondering if I'm okay, thinking he's too fucked up, he can't handle himself, I thought Thomas was always okay and always in control no matter what, they're losing confidence in me, they're losing confidence in themselves for associating with me, what is this big colorful retarded clown shirt I'm wearing I must look like such a fool right now I can't face these people, I can never face them ever again, my face must look so evil ugly and strained, I splash my face with water but it doesn't help, run it through my hair but it doesn't help, get the water all over my shirt but then it just looks like I threw up on myself or pissed myself or something, and I don't have another shirt, should I go out there shirtless, no that's worse, how am I ever going to leave this bathroom, why won't this K wear off, now Erica's calling me, texting me, are you okay, eventually they're just gonna bust in here I know, fine, I can do it, I'm opening the door, yes, I come out, she's still there, good, good girl. She leads me outside. I feel 10% better. I lead her straight to the van. We get in. I tell her to lay with me. Just like on the first night we met. Head spinning, chest heaving, completely exhausted, just lay with me. She asks are you okay and I say for the first time, no. No, I am actually not okay. I blame Adam Friedland. Overall rating: 4/10. Have Nick write your jokes or just stick to interviews.

Saturday - Adam Friedland This musical intro was the best part of the show. The rest of his act just made me miss Nick Mullen. Unlike every other show this week, there were girls there. They seem to love this guy. I used him as bait, to get the girl from Wednesday to go out with me again. She loves Red Scare Podcast and this Jewish twink is a staple of the Red Scare Extended Universe and I wanted to fuck her and so let's go see Adam Friedland. The problem with Adam is that he has no conviction. He does not own the room, he's just filling space. He announced that his father was there, in the crowd, which is great, let's hear something that might make your father uncomfortable. No such thing was said. He stared at the floor for half the set, as if he was sorry for being there. I saw Mulaney the night before; the difference was stark. Mulaney can get away with being a sheepish pushover twink Sometimes because he also has balls. He can accelerate from "Aw shucks" to "SHUCK YOU MOTHERSHUCKER" and both versions of himself feel true. Look, I get it, being a sad sorry pushover is his schtick and it works with the voice and it's very relatable for sensitive young men who didn't do sports in high school but to carry a room for a full hour you also need to be able to fight back. I could hear Nick's intonations in his voice. But it's clear that Mulldog spent all his creative energy this week ghostwriting the white guys' lines for the Roast of Kevin Hart and so Friedland was left to fend for himself, comedically. The mark of whether a comedian is delivering or not, for me, is whether I hold my piss in to keep hearing them. This was not the case on Saturday night. I recall stepping out and getting a good look at the crowd, and Friedland bumbling through his completely forgettable material, and thinking: this makes me feel like I could start stand up comedy today and dominate the genre. I have this instinct to say: Adam's young! He'll get better! But he's not. He won't. He's 39. He doesn't have the neuroplasticity. He crossed the Sensitive Young Man threshold ten years ago. Mulaney at 43 could be his father now. He's a "much better interviewer" apparently. I tuned out after Cumtown ended because frankly I don't give a shit about the middle east, and that's 90% of what he talks about. Different strokes. I asked some guy in the bathroom, mid-piss: "what would you rate this show, out of 10?" He said: ehh, like a 6. He's a much better interviewer. I don't hate Adam Friedland, I just wish there was anybody to be excited about in stand up comedy. Between this mens' magazine giving me a $500 stipend to "report" on all these shows and the $474 ticket to Gillis and the $432 ticket to Chappelle and the $741 ticket to Mulaney and all the drinks they make you buy at these things I'm feeling like a huge sunk cost leech on the world. Just taking people's money and using it to complain. At least my date seemed to be having a good time. I wrapped my hand around her low back and leaned into her head, wanting her but not sure how to say it. It's much easier to express that kind of thing on blow. Later that night I K-holed in public. Erica and I took way too much in the front seat of the van. We were outside a rave at 3 AM, they asked me to produce a QR code on my phone, I could barely stand. I felt like I was moving in 2D. The fat security guard barely flinched as I walked past him in slow heavy steps, like a penguin, marching into this densely fogged room with colorful lights and loud bumping trance music where all I could stand to do was lean against the heavily breathing walls. I tried to dance with the girl but it probably looked retarded. I didn't try to interact with anyone, I was too far gone. I thought of Karen, as I do every time I take K. The girl led me through the venue, as I worried I would fall over or walk straight into a wall. I worried about how bad this must look, how retarded I must look, wearing this huge XXL t-shirt tucked in to my pants that don't even fit that well because I have anterior pelvic tilt and no ass. I looked and felt like a clown. A failed clown. I was smiling painfully at Erica, looking down at her, and she was doing the same to me. We found a bathroom and I forced my way in. The ketamine was NOT wearing off. I felt my heart beating hard and my head spinning like I could have thrown up but there was nothing in my stomach besides liquid—no food all day besides a croissant at 2PM. I had downed some random person's red wine glass at the last bar. I worried it might have been spiked. I leaned with my head against the wall, sweating, wishing it would end, brutally aware that Erica's out there waiting for me, my friends are out there waiting for me, wondering if I'm okay, thinking he's too fucked up, he can't handle himself, I thought Thomas was always okay and always in control no matter what, they're losing confidence in me, they're losing confidence in themselves for associating with me, what is this big colorful retarded clown shirt I'm wearing I must look like such a fool right now I can't face these people, I can never face them ever again, my face must look so evil ugly and strained, I splash my face with water but it doesn't help, run it through my hair but it doesn't help, get the water all over my shirt but then it just looks like I threw up on myself or pissed myself or something, and I don't have another shirt, should I go out there shirtless, no that's worse, how am I ever going to leave this bathroom, why won't this K wear off, now Erica's calling me, texting me, are you okay, eventually they're just gonna bust in here I know, fine, I can do it, I'm opening the door, yes, I come out, she's still there, good, good girl. She leads me outside. I feel 10% better. I lead her straight to the van. We get in. I tell her to lay with me. Just like on the first night we met. Head spinning, chest heaving, completely exhausted, just lay with me. She asks are you okay and I say for the first time, no. No, I am actually not okay. I blame Adam Friedland. Overall rating: 4/10. Have Nick write your jokes or just stick to interviews.

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Tuesday - Louis CK Louie is 58 now but moves like he's 85. He's got the darkest thickest under-eye bags I've ever seen, they're even apparent from below. He will not make it to 70 and if he does he will be so physically repulsive he won't even have to tell jokes any more — which is a shame because in my opinion he's the greatest living stand up by far. I am sick and tired of pretending there's any competition in this genre. This was the THIRD time I had heard him do this set, which barely cracks his top ten hours, and I was laughing my ass off the entire time. EVEN WITH THIS LOUD DRUNK BITCH BESIDE ME.. it made me realize how formulaic Shane Gillis and every other big up-and-comer feels in comparison right now, like they're all rolling off a conveyor belt at the comedy factory where you take a PREMISE, add a PUNCHLINE, and a CALL BACK, with THREE TAGS, and mechanically deploy this stuff over and over with no real through-line or heart in it at all. Louie is relentlessly personal and so his sets evolve with him. I saw him for the first time last year in Indianapolis, and was "severely disappointed." He seemed stilted, nervous, coasting on absurdist buzzword shit tailored for drunken simpletons. He'd say "Vagina" with no context and these hicks would lose their minds. I drove 4 hours to see him that day and couldn’t believe how empty his material was. Jokes that could’ve been written by anybody. There was one prick of personal truth — when he talked about putting his Dad away in a Home. He's been writing about his absentee father his whole life. It’s obviously a great source of anxiety and frustration. So it's no surprise that he leaned in to that thread, sharpened it over the course of the tour, and now the whole set circles around this theme of aging: "All my fat friends are dead. If you have a friend that's older than 50 you should say goodbye." Says big tall egg-shaped Louie, who looks like two Carlins combined. My date was way too drunk to appreciate the occasion. We were in front row seats at the Hollywood Bowl. She bought them for us at dinner, 1 hour before. Different Asian girl from Monday. She had never been to a stand up show in her life, and so she didn't really "get" comedy, and she wouldn't stop fucking talking. Pulling her phone out and texting God knows who. The security guy whose job it was to prevent me from climbing on stage and whipping my cock out had to reprimand her: "Please put your phone away" in the middle of the set. I could not believe it. We're here in the front row beneath the GOAT and he's KILLING, in a stadium of 20,000, and you're texting on your god damn phone? Who? Who could it be? It was a homeless guy from reddit. Not me, a different homeless guy. At one point she actually asked if she could step out and do some blow. I said are you kidding? There's like 10 minutes left, just shut the fuck up and enjoy it. I'm starting to worry that females can't appreciate stand up like I can. Overall rating: 9/10. He’s probably gonna die soon but for now he’s still got it. Mark Normand tonight, Dave Chappelle Thursday, Mulaney Friday.

Tuesday - Louis CK Louie is 58 now but moves like he's 85. He's got the darkest thickest under-eye bags I've ever seen, they're even apparent from below. He will not make it to 70 and if he does he will be so physically repulsive he won't even have to tell jokes any more — which is a shame because in my opinion he's the greatest living stand up by far. I am sick and tired of pretending there's any competition in this genre. This was the THIRD time I had heard him do this set, which barely cracks his top ten hours, and I was laughing my ass off the entire time. EVEN WITH THIS LOUD DRUNK BITCH BESIDE ME.. it made me realize how formulaic Shane Gillis and every other big up-and-comer feels in comparison right now, like they're all rolling off a conveyor belt at the comedy factory where you take a PREMISE, add a PUNCHLINE, and a CALL BACK, with THREE TAGS, and mechanically deploy this stuff over and over with no real through-line or heart in it at all. Louie is relentlessly personal and so his sets evolve with him. I saw him for the first time last year in Indianapolis, and was "severely disappointed." He seemed stilted, nervous, coasting on absurdist buzzword shit tailored for drunken simpletons. He'd say "Vagina" with no context and these hicks would lose their minds. I drove 4 hours to see him that day and couldn’t believe how empty his material was. Jokes that could’ve been written by anybody. There was one prick of personal truth — when he talked about putting his Dad away in a Home. He's been writing about his absentee father his whole life. It’s obviously a great source of anxiety and frustration. So it's no surprise that he leaned in to that thread, sharpened it over the course of the tour, and now the whole set circles around this theme of aging: "All my fat friends are dead. If you have a friend that's older than 50 you should say goodbye." Says big tall egg-shaped Louie, who looks like two Carlins combined. My date was way too drunk to appreciate the occasion. We were in front row seats at the Hollywood Bowl. She bought them for us at dinner, 1 hour before. Different Asian girl from Monday. She had never been to a stand up show in her life, and so she didn't really "get" comedy, and she wouldn't stop fucking talking. Pulling her phone out and texting God knows who. The security guy whose job it was to prevent me from climbing on stage and whipping my cock out had to reprimand her: "Please put your phone away" in the middle of the set. I could not believe it. We're here in the front row beneath the GOAT and he's KILLING, in a stadium of 20,000, and you're texting on your god damn phone? Who? Who could it be? It was a homeless guy from reddit. Not me, a different homeless guy. At one point she actually asked if she could step out and do some blow. I said are you kidding? There's like 10 minutes left, just shut the fuck up and enjoy it. I'm starting to worry that females can't appreciate stand up like I can. Overall rating: 9/10. He’s probably gonna die soon but for now he’s still got it. Mark Normand tonight, Dave Chappelle Thursday, Mulaney Friday.

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