I first encountered the comedic attempts of Dane Cook while attempting to quickly shuffle past the fraternity house located on the street of my dear friend Ulysses S. Grant’s humble abode who I was attempting to visit. Before I could get past the entirety of the fraternity front lawn, I heard a deep and drunken call directed towards my location.
“Hey! Hey, you! You need to get off the street and come in here to listen to Daney Dane’s new special, you dumbass. It only premiers once!”
Never one to refuse an invitation (due to my violent obsessive compulsive disorder) I reluctantly followed the fratboy inside to listen to “Daney Dane.”
Although I could elaborate on what a repulsive shape the fraternity house was kept in and how every piece of furniture smelled of semen, that would be beside the point.
What is not besides the point is what I heard upon that radio (back in my day, radio was the only means of communication, kids. The printing press wasn’t even invented until 1973!).
The show lasted for about an hour. I would say at least twenty minutes out of the sixty consisted of random yelping/other noises the fratboys around me seemed to find hilarious while the other forty minutes was filled with Dane poorly impersonating the voices of ex-girlfriends. Amusement was certainly not the expression written on my face and those (no matter how drunk) around me noticed.
“Why…why do you not laugh at the Daney Dane?” one asked with confusion.
“King Cook is supposed to make laugh,” another barely got off before passing out.
I explained to the puzzled crowd that I just didn’t find the man that funny.
One had an idea.
“Most of the funny is in his face and moving. So you need to see him live!”
I assured him that I would not find the material any funnier due to “face” and “moving” as the jokes were too unamusing as they were.
He, expectedly, would not accept this answer.
“We go live show now!”
Once again cursing my violent OCD, I accompanied the drunken fratboy to a live show of Dane Cook.
We traveled by tyradactel (American made) to the show and, of course, listened to Harmful If Swallowed on the way there. Once again I was not amused.
When we finally arrived at the show and were immediately escorted backstage to see Dane without even purchasing a ticket. That’s just how things work sometimes.
Dane was sitting on a wooden stool in front of a mirror that had the words “The Best” written in SHARPIE upon the glass and an arrow pointing to where his head was doing what appeared to be facial gymnastics. We were informed he was getting all “juiced up.” When he finally finished, three minutes later, all the while with us standing alone with him in this waiting room, he offered us a Red Bull.
I declined the poison, but, as I knew he would, my fratboy companion accepted. After shaking the can near his groinal region a few times signifying what I will only refer to as a lewd gesture, Dane acted out a fake orgasm opened the can and sprayed it all over my companion’s face.
“MONEY SHOT!” was yelled by Daney Dane.
The fratboy found the move hilarious. The two laughed, Dane at his own joke, the fratboy at getting money shotted in the face, for five whole minutes, a time which I used to recognize the Ed Hardy tshirt and pre-ripped jeans Dane was wearing.
At some point in the night, the show finally started, and the fratboy and I watched it in it’s entirety. By this time in the story, I feel it goes without saying that I did not enjoy the performance.
With my OCD’d need to learn more about Dane Cook finally satiated, I was allowed to part ways with my fratboy companion. I offered my hand for him to shake but all he showed me was this…
Dane Cook is so uncool.