LEGENDS #1- Stephen Colbert

Welcome to a brand new segment here at the Wilhelm Comedy Blog; LEGENDS. We'll be highlighting some true pioneers and visionaries of comedy up in this place, and for our first installment, I'd like to honor one Mr. Stephen Colbert, host of Comedy Central's The Colbert Report.



Everyone has seen these clips. But everyone needs to see them again. This is one of the ballsiest, bravest things I've seen a comedian do. I mean..THE PRESIDENT is RIGHT THERE. Wow.





Thank God I was born in the Era of Colbert.

-sw

Bruce Springsteen Is Better Than You

That's right, I said it. Bruce Springsteen - DA BOSS himself - is better than you. All of you. Not only that, but he and the legendary E STREET BAND are better than any other band you can name. This is not something that can be argued. This is proven fact. In fact, the E Streeters are so much better than every other band in existence that they have the ability to physically destroy any band that gets in their way. Any band... that isn't worthy.

These men are poised to kill. Do not make direct eye contact.

But I don't know. I'm sure there are some people - some foolish, foolish people - who will say, "Gee, Bruce Springsteen? He's nowhere near the best rock and roller in the world. What about my favorite band 311?"

Well, you're wrong. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are the best. Questioning this equals death. Their sax-driven heartland rock will invade your brain and destroy your love for any other band much in the same way the Nazis invaded and burned down the small Czechoslovakian town of Lidice. They're just that great.

Oh, but I'm sure you need more proof, you fools. Fine then. To prove that Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are inarguably the best and most powerful rock band ever, I will compare them to some loser band that foolish fools seem to like and show you, based on a number of criteria, why they are better.

Hmm. Who should we start with?


Oh jesus. Linkin Park? Seriously?? This... may be a little to easy.

But no. It must happen. Linkin Park had a number 1 album on the charts last year. They have fans in the millions. They are ripe for the picking. They are the antelope to Bruce Springsteen's fierce lion. (Laugh at that metaphor, and he will come for you.)

Let's do this.

BACKGROUNDS:

Bruce Springsteen: Springsteen bought his first guitar at the age of 13; he had wanted to become a rock star since the age of 8, after seeing Elvis Presley perform on The Ed Sullivan Show. At 16 he started performing in several local New Jersey rock bands, inspired by such luminaries as Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, and Gary U.S. Bonds. He formed the E Street Band in the early '70s, who quickly became known for their electrifying nightly stage performances and unique mixture of pre-Beatles rock 'n roll and pre-Motown R 'n B.

Linkin Park: After seeing a Limp Bizkit video for the first time, Chester Bennington and Mike Shinoda - maybe the worst duo in the history of popular music - decided that rap-metal was nowhere near as annoying and shitty as it could be. After bribing some record executives into giving them a contract, they released some of the most boring, cliched, overwrought music you could possibly imagine. Influences include Satan.

Ok, listen, Springsteen is going to win this one. Hands down. There is no point in me continuing on. But I know you fools - you dumb dumb Linkin Park boosters - won't take "SPRINGSTEEN IS GOD" for an answer. So let's move on.

BREAKTHROUGH ALBUM COMPARISON:

Bruce Springsteen - Born To Run: Considered by many to be one of the finest rock albums ever made - to the point where Greil Marcus compared it to The Iliad - Springsteen delivered his biggest and most beloved work in 1975, combining the romanticism of Orbison, the poetry of Dylan, the production of Spector and the swagger of an early 60's bar-rock band. It was the third album of his career, after a decade of working hard and honing his skills finally paid off. A classic in every regard.

Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory: A derivative piece of shit Korn would be embarrassed to put out. Became the best-selling rock album of the 2000s because bored teenagers needed some angry-sounding music to listen to while playing Mat Hoffman's Pro BMX.

Come on, look that that! After a fully-detailed comparison like that, you still aren't convinced? Ok. Fine.

COLLABORATIONS:

Bruce Springsteen has written songs for such influential rock artists as Patti Smith, The Pointer Sisters, and Manfred Mann, and has performed with the likes of Neil Young, R.E.M., and the Arcade Fire.

Linkin Park did a shitty mash-up album with Jay-Z, which can only be considered the absolute nadir of Jay-Z's career.

OK. I'm tired of this idiocy. If THAT didn't convince you, then I'm gonna have to bring out the big guns.

PHYSICAL ATTRACTIVENESS:

Bruce Springsteen:

Wow. What an impressive hunk of man.

Chester Bennington:

Ugh... UGH. That is just... eww.

Come on, ladies, WHO WOULD YOU CHOOSE??

Well, I'm done with this. If you aren't convinced by now, I'm sure Bruce Springsteen is on his way to break into your house and visit with you personally. If his affable New Jersey swagger doesn't win your heart, he'll rip it out of your chest and feed it to Max Weinberg. That's all there is to it.

Yeah, Linkin Park was an easy target. But don't worry; I won't be done proving Bruce Springsteen's greatness until I've compared him to every band that has ever existed, ever, and destroyed them all. Because that is Springsteen's ultimate goal. Domination... of your music tastes.

Until next time.

P.S.: I was close to making an easy joke about the above picture. I didn't. Because really, what needs to be said?

Kresstionable Behavior : Audio Weaponry

hello, wilhelm comedy blogger. I hope you're enjoying the cold (muahahaha)

I felt compelled to comment on an interesting new development in audio technology that i stumbled upon whilst perusing the greatest news site in the world atm imo (at the moment, in my opinion...dummy) digg.com.
http://gizmodo.com/356090/inferno-speaker-blaster-makes-you-vomit

say how do to the Inferno Speaker








basically what this 3 foot pain-in-the-ass does is emit a 125db noise that is so unbearable, it "induces vomiting, chest pain, and vertigo". Several manufacturers have already started cranking out these fucking headache machines, installing them in nuclear facilites in Russia, various shops throughout Europe, and even as a theft deterrence measure on cars and vans.

Frankly, I feel morally obligated to effectively stamp my namesake on this thang and deem it
HIGHLY KRESSTIONABLE

A few months ago, I learned about "mosquito tones", high pitched noises that operate at such a high frequency that they are inaudible to anyone above the age of 30 (at this age hearing has degraded beyond this frequency). Students have begun using them as ringtones to receive calls in class without drawing attention, and in Europe shop owners will play these squealing tones as a way to keep goldbricking kids from loitering in front of their stores.

this interested me to the point that I actually bought one of these ringtones (much to the chegrin of the younger members of my extended family) but it also opened my eyes to the silly and obnoxious hobby of meddling with sound frequencies. Well, if the mosquito tone is a 7 on the obnoxious scale, the Inferno Speaker is easily a 12 (in theory)
Some asshole audiologist, whilst tinkering in his Frankensteinian lab, discovered this horrible technology and marketed it, and now I'm going on record to say that this technology, if it catches on, will turn up the dickometer on security systems.

Imagine, if you will, you live in a peaceful suburb in a two story with kids, a dog, and a power mower. The year is 2018. A prowler breaks into your home, and unbeknownst to him you've installed the latest in home security: The Inferno Speaker 9000.
You hear the sound of glass breaking, you jump up and grab the nearest baseball bat/golf club/obligatory home defense bludgeoning weapon. Your heart racing, you enter the hall.
AND THE OBNOXIOSPEAKER ENGAGES
Suddenly the prowler drops to his knees clutching his chest. The nausea forces him to vomit all over your Persian foyer rug. your dog rolls over and whimpers, vomits, eats his vomit, and repeats. Your wife comes out of the bedroom gripping her ears. she vomits. the kids wake up, screaming "daddy! daddy!" in between heaving chunks of macaroni and cheese on their dora the explorer bedsheets.

now thats kresstionable

Rich Piepho: Comedian, Beloved Friend Dead At Age 21

OK, he's not really dead. Like, physically dead. Just symbolically dead. And by "symbolically dead" I mean "not living in Connecticut at the moment."


But yes, Mr. Rich Piepho, beloved friend and member of Wilhelm, has gotten a writing job in L.A. While we are saddened to see him leave - he was the only attractive member of our group, after all (nah just jokin', I'm pretty good looking) - we are also very, very proud of him and wish him the best. Our little boy has grown up.


I say "little boy" because, unlike the other two members of Wilhelm, I can say that I have known Mr. Piepho for almost my entire life. We were both born in upstate New York, in the small town of Lakeport. We met by chance at a Coal Miners Family Convention - you see, our fathers were both coal miners, and desperately wanted the two of us to continue our families' legacies. But the moment Rich and I met at the ages of 8 and 9 respectively, our fathers touting us around the convention floor as if we were soot-covered trophies destined to be apart of the New Coal Generation, we knew that this shallow life wasn't for us.


It was then that the two of us heard of the magic that was the Connecticut comedy scene. My older cousin, attending the University of Connecticut at the time, invited us to see his sketch comedy group - the Razzlin' Dazzles - perform. I'll never forget what I saw that night: the lavish backdrop of the Von der Mehden Theater, filled with eager comedy aficionados waiting to have their artistic visions fulfilled, talking excitedly to one another in nervous anticipation not unlike those who were about to witness Leonardo da Vinci's paintings for the first time. Once young Rich and I saw the Razzlin' Dazzles' dead-on impression of former President George Herbert Walker Bush shouting "READ MY NIPS!!", the both of us knew it. We were destined to be Connecticut Comedy Stars.


For years we practiced. At first, things were golden; Rich and I shared similar comedy dreams and instincts, and some of the sketches we wrote back when we were 12 stand up even today (ask me and I'll send you the "Deep Brew, the Chess Playing Beer" sketch; great comedy knows no era). Not only that, but we practiced improv non-stop, much to the chagrin of our fathers. I clearly recall Rich and I in the middle of a scene about a gay cop and his son who turned out to be Carson Daly, making each other laugh furiously in my bedroom, when the ominous THUMP THUMP of my father's mining boots came from right outside my door. The moment he walked in on Rich and I, dancing and serenading each other in a hilarious fashion, he looked at us with cold, cold eyes; the soot had covered his entire face, except for those eyes, yellowed with age. He truly looked like a demon. With total bemusement, he handed me a shovel, told me to "get down to the mine" and walked away.


It was never the same after this. Rich and I stopped talking. The only time I would see Rich would be at the Coal Convention, but we would barely talk; neither of us knew if we would ever escape the coal trap our fathers had made for us - even worse, we were unsure if this whole "comedy" dream was worth it. Once I finally escaped that hell hole and bused it to Storrs CT, I was rid of that evil town forever - but I never saw Rich again.


That is, until late 2007. Steve Winchell and I had started Wilhelm Comedy, and desperately needed talented performers. As far as I knew, Rich Piepho could have been a dead man, buried under miles and miles of coal in Lakeport - surely, even if he were alive, he'd probably given up on our comedy dream. So when he walked into our audition room, shot me a smile, and performed his new revision of our old "Tom and Jerry Visit A Gay Bar" routine, I almost cried. He'd never forgotten our dream of escaping the coal mines and becoming Connecticut Comedy Stars - and now, we'd fulfill those dreams, at long last.

The rest, as they say, is history.

I've sure Winchell and Kress have their own stories about Rich, but I assure you that they are no where near as interesting as mine. I mean, come on. Mine had George Bush Sr. in it.

But I will say that on behalf of all of us, it has been a wonderful semester working with you, Rich. You're an immensely talented writer and performer, and we know you will kick some serious ass in L.A.

Just don't kill anybody. That will reflect badly on the club.



RICH PIEPHO: WILHELM MEMBER AND BELOVED FRIEND 1986-2008