Being a comedian comes with its own set of unique experiences. The other night before a show I had an email from a fan asking what my favorite cookie was.
Quick side note. Comedians get paid next to nothing. So I don’t mind using fans for occasional caloric perks. In fact, I’m not opposed to outright asking on-stage, “Can someone please bring me a Wendy’s Triple, please? I’m starving!”
When I was asked the cookie question, I immediately knew to expect the person at a future comedy show with what, essentially, was my order. However, “Matthew” apparently drives around at all times with peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies in the “ended” part of his extended-cab pickup, because he showed up less than twenty minutes later at the gig.
I didn’t question the miracle – I gave thanks to God and delighted in the goopy goodness that is a warm, soft, just-out-of-the-oven peanut butter and chocolate chip cookie. After about eight cookies, Matthew then informed me of a couple of things.
First… the sweets were not freshly baked. They just happened to be in his truck. “So how do you explain the just-baked appearance, Cookie Boy?” I inquired.
“I put them on my floorboard and cranked up the truck’s heater.”
Umm… okay. If Matthew had told me this right off, I would’ve politely accepted the cookies, shook his hand, and motioned the bouncer over with instructions to make sure the person was packed completely inside the trash bin, keeping hands and feet inside at all times. But it was too late… I’d already eaten twelve of them, and saw no end in sight. It reminded me of the Butterball Turkey Hotline story when the eighteen-wheeler tried to roast his turkey over his engine. It sounded completely nuts, but hey, if you’ve already sampled the goodness, you don’t really care how it was prepared.
Then I was informed that the true reason the cookies tasted so scrumptious was that they were made with true lard. LARD, I tell you. My brain was frantically pulling out file drawers looking for the definition, when suddenly I was horrified when it arrived at my frontal lobe. I was eating cookies made with the rendered fat of hogs and their innards. Eww.
Lard? Where do you get lard, anyway? It’s not like you can go up to the meat counter at Safeway and ask for a pig’s abdomen. Where did this guy find lard? Well, it turns out he lives on a farm, so lard is in great abundance, and has been in his family for generations; apparently he used some of his inheritance for the cookies. Eww.
“Another cookie, Mr. Marlar?”
“Don’t mind if I do, thank you.”
Like I said, once you’ve tasted the goodness you can’t really complain. Besides, I’d already eaten 23 cookies, so what was another 36, right?