San Francisco Fun and Fire Scare!

Got back from a really fun weekend with Joe Rogan and Co. in San Francisco.  I’d never been there during summer before and I must say I have a new paradise – 62 in July? Thank you. That shit feels like heaven to me. I could wear a jacket year round. I really could. Would I want it warmer sometimes? Probably, but I’d rather have a jacket on than not be able to get naked enough. I get so goddamn hot some days that I want to peel my skin off with a knife the same way a crazy Sioux probably did to my much deserving ancestors. Fuck heat.

Speaking of crazy. What exactly is the philosophy of those living in the Bay area with regard to the homeless, mentally insane, and just plain lazy members of society? Just shake em up, toss em, and see how they fall, huh? It really is a pretty crazy city – literally. Beautiful architecture, true melting pot of society, progressive ideas, and a fuckload of crazy.  Aggressive crazy too. Guys slap you on the arm and demand shit, “Hey, man, what you got for me?” My buddy Redban responded to that inquisition with his equally aggressive “I got a fart for you.” To which the shuffling sociopath replied, “I ain’t no local nigga. I’m from Oakland. Can’t pull that shit wit me.” To which my friend said, “It’s a wet fart too. Hope you’re ready.” At this point I thought Mr. Oakland was going to stab either Redban, me, Joey Diaz, or one of the randoms standing around. Instead common sense got the best of crazy and nothing crazy happened. 

You know what was crazy? Being awoken at 4:15am by a fire alarm in a hotel while you are dead asleep and intoxicated. I mean I was OUT and when I heard the alarm I thought it was my own alarm. I had set my phone alarm for 8:30 because we had to catch our flight out. So when I hear the alarm I think “Goddamn, that is loud. I guess it’s time to get up.” But I’m totally dazed. The alarm gets louder and this time it’s accompanied by a calm, British-accented, female voice. “This is a fire alarm.” What? Seriously. Then she drops the bomb. “A fire has been detected on the 2nd floor. Please evacuate the building immediately.”


Planes, West Palm, New Picture, and San Francisco

Okay, I’ll admit it. That’s entirely too much to put into a title of a posting. Especially considering that I don’t think I’m going to write that much. Now I feel overwhelmed, like I HAVE to write a lot. Well I don’t. 

I’d like to point out that I was never very good with numbers, but I fly almost every week, at least a few times a week and that leads me to believe that statistically, shouldn’t I sit next to a moderately attractive person, say, every 60 flights? I’m not looking to hook up. You’ll note that I said a moderately attractive “person.” That’s right, I’m willing to be happy to have a handsome man at my side. That’s because in my nearly 3 years of flying practically non-stop I’ve only been seated next to or in between the floor dwellers. The mouth-breathing, foul-smelling, incessantly chatty, morbidly obese members of both sexes. I’m not skinny, but I don’t spill into the next seat. I don’t smell like roses, but I also don’t smell like a gutter on Bourbon street during Mardi Gras. And I sure as hell don’t talk up my neighbor during flights because I don’t want to talk to ANYONE on a plane. I would really prefer it if airlines made their safety announcements and then politely, but firmly, told everyone to shut the fuck up for the rest of the flight. But somehow, for some reason, every flight, every week, I lose the “next door neighbor lottery” like clockwork. I can see it coming. If a toothless, shoeless, fat mess of a human being is waiting near my gate, I’m willing to bet the farm that he or she will end up sitting next to me. I am destined to fly in misery. My only comfort: this time next year I should be medallion status on Delta and maybe, just maybe I will get upgraded once every 100 flights.

West Palm Beach was enormous fun. I’d like to thank my buddy Joe Rogan for letting me tag along. I was fortunate enough to open for Joe on Friday and Saturday and the club had me headline on Thursday and Sunday. Joe’s shows are always fun. He sells out every show and his fans are all about a good time. They party hard and laugh harder. It’s impossible not to have fun on a weekend with Joe. If you haven’t been to West Palm’s Improv you should go. It’s at City Place which is a fairly upscale outdoor mall. The club expanded back in January and now seats over 600 people which is HUGE by comedy club standards. I don’t know if there is a bigger comedy club in the country. My guess is no. 

While I was at the club I had a couple of pics taken by the photographer there. Her name is Lucy Unsworth and she takes beautiful pictures. I mean, just look at me:

Tom Segura

Tonight I’m at Irvine and tomorrow I go to San Francisco with Rogan and the one and only Joey “Coco” Diaz. If you don’t know, you better AXE somebody. It’s gonna be stupid. We’ll be at Cobbs. See ya there……

A fascinating interview with me.

When I was in Minnesota the good people at the local NBC affiliate interviewed me. I was captivating. I’m still figuring out how to use this bloggy, thingy, but for now I do know that the interview is over there —> on the right. Enjoy. has a new home!

I am done with the regular website thing! this is my new home or as Michael Jackson would have said – This Is It! I will now blog, add dates, photos, videos, mindless insight, other self-gratifying shit here! hope you enjoy it!