Hi, I'm David Schwimmer, and Welcome to My Chicago.

The fabulous Sears Tower. I think.


Aside from performing in a comedy show at the Chemically Imbalanced Theater, and seeing a fantastic show at Improv Olympic - starring Tim Meadows - our venture to Chicago was filled with hilarity that was brought on by a combination of excitement, exhaustion, and old-fashioned fart jokes.

Mr. LaPatrick left for North Carolina on Sunday, so I don't have too many pictures of him, which is sad. What is not sad is that he's reclining by a beautiful lake right now, so it evens out.

Corey and Jason went to the top of the Hancock Tower and got an audio tour narrated by David Schwimmer, and he kept saying things like "my Chicago" and "consider it a personal invitation." Emily and Meg and I decided to eat Tapas instead, which is cool, because we love food.

Then, later, Corey and Jason were hit on by a gigantic gay massage therapist at the airport, who offered to "work on them". Serves them right for being nice and talking to people. You'll never catch me doing that!

Here are some pictures I took on the trip. We all kind of look like maniacs.

Up close and personal. (Too close.)

Chilling after our Friday night showcase.


The festival was sponsored by several local breweries. We made sure we honored them by drinking their free beer.

Strutting down to the Navy Pier.

On the Mc Donald's Ferris Wheel.

 

The beach at Lake Michigan.

Best buds. (Keep in mind Corey and Jason had to share a bed for the whole trip. And they live together.)

Taxicab confessions.

On our way to the "Taste of Chicago" restaurant fest. Born Agains in the background. 

That SNL sketch is so funny that it made my head grow 3 times its normal size.

The shiny bean jawn at Millennium Park.

The Art Institute, hanging with Ferris and Cameron (not pictured).

Rooftop cocktails at the hotel.

Goodnight everybody!

Back from Chicago!

We're back from Chicago, and as some of you might know, we KICKED IT'S MONKEY ASS. Read all about it below in this post from Comic Vs. Audience. Thanks to Dave Walk and all the comedy kids in town for your support! Pics from the trip and info on upcoming shows soon to follow!! Yaaaaaaay!!!

Photo taken by C vs. A at The Sixth Borough's "Depression Isn't Just A River In Egypt" at Connie's Ric Rac this past April. We weren't in Chicago.

"It was fun to do it anyway but to the fact that we won a couple of festival trips made it much more worthwhile," said Corey Cohen a day after his group, Philadelphia's THE SIXTH BOROUGH, won not just the Audience but the Judges award at Chicago's Snubfest (presented by Chemically Inbalanced Comedy). With the awards came entrances toMilwaukee's Comedy Festival in August and 2010's Montreal Sketch Festival.

The other award from Snubfest went to Chicago's The Cool Table, who in turn earned entrance into the Philly Sketchfest later this year (dates haven't been announced yet, but best believe we'll be on top of it).

Meanwhile, plans are in the works for a hero's welcome home for The 6B similar to the Philadelphia Phillies victory parade last year (no, not really). They've just made us so proud, sniff.

If you don't understand it, it's probably genius. -- PART 5

After a quick cigarette and another cheeseburger, we were off into the great unknown, to find the fabled lands of Montana...
------

"Not so fast!" shouted a voice from the darkness adjacent to the lighter area.

The voice was so familiar, I froze. I dropped my cigarette and my cold hands began to sweat. Kurt turned to me.

"Man, that voice is so familar", he said. "Do you have a hand towel I could use?"

"How about you just dry your hands on my blowtorch you alien sac of shit!"

And from the aforementioned darkness stepped Bearded Kurt Russell. And without hesitation, my vagina imploded and then rebuilt itself stronger and more potent than ever.



"You! Narrator! If you value your life, and your newly strengthened front bottom, and if you have any hopes of the real Kurt Russell peeing white into it, then step away from that alien duplicate of me, the real Kurt Russell!"

"But...confused, too many K-Kurt Russells...bulging...", I stumbled at the sight of his excessive chin masculinity. 5 o'clock shaven Kurt Russell grabbed my arm.

"Don't listen to him! He's the alien! Look at the subtle blonde highlights peppered into my fashionably contructed mullet-hair! No alien could duplicate this so accurately!"

Bearded Kurt Russell shot a blast of hot fire into the air. "Enough! Ok! Ok! If you're not an alien, then you won't mind taking a little test to make sure!"

"Bring it!" 5 o'clock shaven Kurt Russell demanded.

"Alright! I'm going to shoot you with my blowtorch. If you start to burn, you're an alien. If you're truly Kurt Russell, your coating of chest sweat will repel the flames. I'll go second."

"Makes sense", I confirmed, and readied my camera phone.

-BANG! BANG!-

Two shots screamed out of the darkness, catching both Kurt Russells in the head, exploding Kurt Russell brains all over the cheeseburger tree.

Hence the Big Mac was born.

I screamed, and turned to run. A voice came from the darkness. Again.

"Don't be a pussy."

And from the black stepped a figure dressed in all...black. It was Eye-patch Kurt Russell.

"They were both aliens. I'm the real Kurt Russell. Look." He pointed down at their bodies which were now just steaming piles of green diarrhea. He gently kicked one of the piles.

"See? It's not Kurt. It's imitation."

I prodded one of the piles with a stick and flung some of the green diarrhea at the cheeseburger tree. Now we had Whoppers.

"But how do I know if you're the real Kurt Russell?"

He picked up the blowtorch and shot himself in the chest. The flames bounced right off.

"They were trying to get you to go to Montana, weren't they?"

"Yea! We need to find the Luddites! You see, after the internet blew-up, all the useless crap inside it, things like videos of dogs running into walls and peoples opinions, they all went into our heads and now we're having nightmares, and we have to---!"

"Slow down. Slow down. First of all, there aren't any more humans in Montana. They're all aliens. Those two were going to take you there so you could carry their alien babies. Good thing they didn't have a chance to have sex with you yet, seeing as how you just met them and all."

Hesitant, I responded.

"You're right! Good thing! After this though we definitely should celebrate and go eat some sushi. And push me down an escalator. You got a cigarette?"

"No. But I do have cigarellachinos. Mexican cigarettes. They're basically tacquitos, except you smoke them. Now, lets stop wasting time. We have alot to do before we stop the bad internet dreams."

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

The diarrhea carcass of Bearded Kurt Russell lunged at Eye-patch Kurt Russell. Eye-patch Kurt answered with a shotgun blast to the mouth.

-BLAM!-

"Now let's get the fucking fuck out of here..."

-Jason

I don't understand WTF Jason named this thing, Part 4.

And the Boy with a stomach for a face thought for a moment, carefully choosing what he would say next...

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and then blackness. I awoke, and realized I was screaming.
Kurt Russell brushed the dust from my face. "We have to get out of here," he said, "There's no time to loose."
"K-Kurt?" I croaked. "I was having a really shitty dream that didn't make any sense."
"I know," he answered. "The Omnipotent Beast from Krull is making us all have nightmares. I realize I wasn't actually in that movie, but I could have been."
"And you would have killed. Literally and figuratively."
"I know."
And with that, Kurt and I traveled far across the desert. There was no water, but we did manage to find an oasis filled with beer. Cold beer, the best kind. There was also a cheeseburger tree.



Once we were satiated, I felt strong enough to speak again. "Kurt," I said, "Why is everyone having these horrible nightmares?"
He looked out across the desert. His ice blue eyes betrayed the gravity behind what he was about to explain. I could tell this, even though he was wearing sunglasses. Really cool ones, actually. I think they may have been Ray-Ban's.
"You remember when the Internet blew up?"
I took a deep breath and answered solemnly. "Hell yeah."
"Well, that's pretty much why everything is fucked up now. All of the meaningless crap that people wasted time writing, all the shit nobody cares about, like what food you are going to eat for lunch, or what kind of moronic TV shows you like, or if your roommate did something to piss you off and you felt the need to write about it to your gay friends."
I stared at his chest for a moment and then answered back. "I see what you mean, like when you take a quiz to see what kind of cocktail you are."
"Exactly. All of that bullshit, plus like a million trillion pounds of porno and baby pictures, it all had nowhere to go when the Web exploded, so it went into our brains. That's why you're having retarded dreams."
"What does Krull have to do with it?"
"Oh, nothing really. That movie just rules really hard. That weapon they use is awesome, I wish I had one."
"Yeah, me too. But what of the rest of humanity? Please don't tell me we are the only survivors," I cried. "I mean, if we are that's cool, cause I will totally repopulate the Earth with you if you want."
"We are not alone. There is a colony of survivors in Montana."
"The Luddites?" I gasped.
"Yes. They will let me in because I share their Liberarian views. Bruce Campbell is also there, and Ted Nugent probably."
"Kurt?"
"Yes."
"I love you."
He didn't answer with words, but instead with his wiener.

After a quick cigarette and another cheeseburger, we were off into the great unknown, to find the fabled lands of Montana...

"WDTRC" --- PART 3

"The Spirit turned away just as the Boy was sucked through the portal, spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors..."

--------

When we last left our organally challenged hero, he was spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors which could only mean one thing. He was headed back in time! To 1870! Oversized pocketwatches as big as his stomach, and crazy colors like gray, brown, sepia-tone, and brown again, whizzed around him sending him into a tizzy. "Help!" he shouted, but the sound was drowned out by a thousand phonographs playing "When Johnny comes marching home", from the Die Hard with a Vengeance soundtrack, in rounds. And just before The Boy with a stomach for a Face lost consciousness, a giant Jeremy Irons face appeared and said, "He was an asshole!
You got his number! number...number...number....asshole....."

MANY DAYS LATER-

The boy with a stomach for a face awoke, rubbed his nipples, and squinted up at the sun. A figure stepped over him blocking the light. "Do ye have any fish?"

"What? No. Where am I? Did you just call me an asshole?"

"Mine inquiry preceded your own."

"What?"

"I asked ye if ye have any fish to eat."

"No, do I look like I have any fish to eat?"

"No. Ye looks as though your pappy must've enjoyed a thorough nose blowing at the moment he dripped seed into your mother's sin den."

"Who told you to say that?! Was it Matthew Guntherclit?! I don't care what he says! I told him not to stick his finger in my butt-ear!"

"So, can ye teach me how to fish?"

"No! Why would I teach you how to fish? You just made fun of me! And how come you're dressed like a person from the 1870s? Specifically."

"I might ask ye the same thing. For instance, why does your shirt appear to have purposeful tears in it and drawings of skulls that can fly? Are ye a hobo demon? Possibly a low-income specter?"

"No! This is my new t-shirt I got so the other kids won't make fun of me. It's from the hippest most coolest store in the mall! Hollister! Yea!"

"What did ye say? Repeat that."

"Yea!"

"The thing before it."

"Butt-ear?"

"Too far."

"Hollister?"

"Yes! What does ye know of the mysterious Hollister?"

And the Boy with a stomach for a face thought for a moment, carefully choosing what he would say next...

Whisper Down the Red Corpse - Part 2

Then the Boy with a stomach for a face ran out into the backyard, tears streaming from his toenails.---

PART 2 ----

The Boy ran and ran. He tripped, then fell. Then, again with the running. He ran until he was in the woods, and all was dark around him. There he entered a clearing. He collapsed to the ground, tired, hungry, and ugly.

"Why!? Why must I look like this?" he shouted into the still black air.

"Because-um" said a voice, "Your people violated a most ancient code-um."

The boy jumped up, wiping his feet free of tears with his boner fingers. "Who is there?" he asked, with fear in his voice and bird shit in his hair.

"I am the spirit of the forest, ugly one-um." said the voice. Then, from the trees, entered the spirit of the forest. He was a tall gray man, with a big hat covered in feathers, and a t-shirt that said "Spirit of the Forest" on it.

"Are you a g-g-g-ghost?" asked the Boy, frightened enough that his ears retracted into his chest.

"Are you ugly-um?" asked the Spirit rhetorically, as both he and the Boy clearly knew the answer was yes, and it did not need to be explained, especially to an intelligent reader such as yourself.

"So then what are you doing here? How did I get here? Can you tell me why I am so fucking ugly?" asked the Boy.

"You see-um," said the Spirit in a deep, somber voice, "you are the result of the white man's abuse of my people's ancient secret nuclear power plant..."

The Boy watched the Spirit as several seconds passed. "Right..."

"That's it," said the Spirit, clearly irritated. "Did you think it was more complicated-um?"

"I guess I assumed it would be." said the Boy as he confusedly picked his elbow nose with his boner. "So if it was so obvious, why did you come here to tell me?"

"Oh, yes-um..." said the Spirit, taking out his magic wand."I forgot."

The Spirit flicked his wrist, and suddenly a wormhole ripped open on the far edge of the clearing, and started sucking in the Boy with a power he couldn't escape. As the Boy began to be drawn in, the Spirit turned to him, and in that deep voice that made the Boy's boner fingers stand on end, said "Good luck-um. You are in for some serious weirdness."

The Spirit turned away just as the Boy was sucked through the portal, spiraling past clocks and trippy 70's colors...

TUNE IN TOMORROW

And now, 6B's on-going, ever changing, funny ha-ha story. One of us starts, and another continues. And continues. And continues. Crazy right? Read it.

PART 1 ----

"The kids at school say that my Daddy must have sneezed when he came!", snuffed the Boy with a stomach for a face to his Mother.

"What did I tell you about using that type of language?! Now get your nose off the table young man!", Mother snapped slamming the pasta strainer on the side of the stove.

"That's what I'm saying Mom! If I were a normal kid, I would have my elbows on the table! But no, look at me everyone! I have to roll up my sleeve to check for boogers!"

"Speaking of which, why don't you reach over here and tell me how my sauce smells."

"I don't want to! Plus I'm not hungry anyway!"

"Oh who are you kidding?! I can hear your head growling from here!" She sips the spatula of sauce. "Hmmm, needs more Gatorade."

"And then at recess, Matthew Guntherclit gave me a Wet Willy and I had to go the bathroom to stop the bleeding!"

"Poor Matthew Guntherclit. I take it you never told him that you hear with your butthole? What a shame...for him."

"But what about me Ma?! Every time the class bell rings, I poop a little!"

"Look! You are as God made you. And radiation. If we had known that our house was built on an ancient Indian nuclear power plant, then we would have never moved here! But here he are, twelve years later, one loving family, with a son that can wink his nipples! Now I think that's pretty special."

"Oh, you just don't understand! And I hate your sauce!"

Then the Boy with a stomach for a face ran out into the backyard, tears streaming from his toenails.---