I am Christopher King. I am America's Senior Comedian and One-Man Weapons System for Truth.
This show is concluded.
I have moved any further performances to an undisclosed location. My target audience includes those capable of surveilling it, and those who have received a personal invitation. Personal invitations may be purchased at the rate of one hundred dollars per person, per year, payable in cash to Chris King, Grafton, Vermont 05146. (Or a single kind word. Either will suffice.)
No others are welcome in my theater.
Thank you.
See you there!
And I have several. I recall that I have used @ckpi, @ckpi1, @UpWithTerror, @SmellyOlTerris, @ImInChargeNow, and @USS_Armageddon.
They serve their various artistic purposes.
There is only one means of communicating with a professional comedian who is engaged in a professional undertaking, and that is to buy your ticket.
I play some pretty big rooms in Vegas. I need to participate in conversations with imaginary friends like I need a shotgun blast to the face.
So if anyone perchance had been attempting to engage me in a dialogue --which, judging by my professional radioactivity, is highly unlikely-- you should know that I'm not ignoring you. I'm just off doing more productive things like earning a living, which is what the business plan chapter in the textbook says I should be achieving right now, what with --oh, I don't know-- having meticulously assembled my audience of choice, which includes a who's who in the fields of politics, news, and entertainment.
This isn't 1975. My success is not to be judged by what TV show I'm on. That I have not been tapped to play a sidekick on someone else's show in no way absolves you of your moral obligation to feed the man who has re-arranged his life over an entire decade and who invested every last nickel he had so that he could mount the very show you now attend.
I have a show. It's ten years in the making. I have an audience. It's ten years in the assembling.
I fully expect my audience to buy their tickets. This is not a free show. Cock your heads and try to conceptualize what the future looks like. It's a guy with a microphone on the Internet, wrangling his target audience into their seats.
Stand-up is poor man's show business. I need us all to prove that this business model can work.
Send $100 to Chris King, Grafton, Vermont 05146. That is the only means of registering your desire to be my friend. You owe me a hundred bucks for every year that you've attended my show since 2007, the year I first started charging for tickets.
Buy your ticket or get out of my show. Contrary to what you may believe inside your mind, speaking to you is not its own reward.
Imaginary friends don't let friends starve to death for a lack of his due ticket receipts.
I'm getting extremely pissed off at you people, and that is affecting my work.
There will come a time when I simply get tired of investing good effort after bad, and I will pack up my stuff and leave without so much as a goodbye, NEVER to return. I'll be on to something new.
Guaranteed.
Buy your tickets, losers.
I'll be back in a month or two.
Isn't this form of communication so much more convenient for me? It's the comedy equivalent of certified mail. It saves the cost of a stamp. And you never reply anyway, so what difference does it make?
If no one will speak to me in private, then I'll make all my conversations public.
That trashbag you call a jurisdiction has illegalized the placement of a ten-dollar bouquet of flowers on my doorstep. Why? Because it's an idiot jurisdiction that dies if I look at it crosseyed.
The President of the United States has okayed the delivery of flowers to me. There.
Now type up some legal papers by which flowers magically appear on my doorstep. I want them within a week.
If the Justice Department then takes issue with that action, I want you to protest that, indeed, the president has green lighted such a thing. The ensuing legal battle over whether the president of the United States actually okayed it will call into being a sequence of events that causes the jurisdiction to die.
Do you not know anything about law?
The touch pee-pee game is over. I want my ticket receipts, I want my flowers, and I want my life back. I'm gettin' old here, old man.
Also: The IRS has looked at their shoes and (wisely) declined a piece of me. I want refunded all backup withholding taken from me during my entire adult life. And I want interest.
I want a check from the Treasury within a month.
Thank you.
So for the past ten years I've been experimenting with that knowledge.
But I've learned since that the proper term is "dunamis." It is the force associated with the Most High God. It is to be contrasted with the Satanic force known as "vril."
There is much pursuit of the vril force in this world. Vril is a cheap imitation, and those who wield it face defeat in any contest with the dunamis.
And they know that. And therein lies their fatal weakness.
I am the comedian. I will win.