'THE COMEDIAN' ALLEN CHANEY
Season 1: Episode 1
Bullshit
Allen blinks. Twice.
It’s 2019 and he’s just finished reading the script.
And he knows it is garbage.
They took everything he wrote and condensed it to the most basic formulaic sitcom bullshit.
But they tell him this is his big break.
So he forces a smile.
And the words ‘It’s good’ come out of his mouth.
It tastes like an ipecac on his tongue.
He chokes back the bile.
He tells himself it is going to be alright.
He was a good person.
He worked hard.
That kind of thing got rewarded.
Right?
‘Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.’
-George Carlin
“I’m sick of this idea that I need to be fixed. I mean, I know I probably do but all these people telling me I’m broken now just stood there and watched while I was breaking. So….you know. Fuck them.” Allen says, rereading the text from a guy he dated for about a month while the show was in production. There is no response from his current conversation partner. He goes on anyway.
“I’m not shirking responsibility but I’m definitely not taking all of the blame for this either. ‘I lost control’ and ‘control was taken from me’ can both be the same thing.” Allen says as his conversational partner kneads his paws on Allen’s tummy.
“Are you saying I’m fucking fat?” Allen asks. Bill ignores him and curls up on Allen’s stomach and closes his eyes. Allen rolls his eyes and looks back at his phone. He deletes the text. Then blocks the number. Then he blocks Ollie’s number. Then Johnny’s. Then Chelsea’s. Then
Josh’s. And another. And another. And another. Then a Doordash order. Then a few more numbers get blocked.
Before a driver can arrive with his Fazoli’s so Allen can consume their disappointing handjob of a Chicken Parm he gets up from the couch, briefly annoying Bill who was forced from his resting place but he just settles back down on the warm spot Allen left behind. Crisis averted.
Allen cracks open a bottle of Pedialyte and downs it to assist with yet another record-setting hangover he obtained after his loss at the first episode of Victory. A wrestling journalist present at PWE’s after party wrote about Allen showing up quite late to the event and drinking (and this is a direct quote from the article) ‘basically everything’. He certainly felt like it.
The doorbell rings and Allen puts on the pajama pants by the door for when delivery drivers show up.
“Just set the food down” Allen says, opening the door and briefly squinting when the sun beams in through the screen door. Briefly the light made his hurty brain hurtier but he acclimated quickly enough.
“Hey aren’t you…” Allen’s driver says.
Allen’s butthole tightens so fast and hard it could probably have clipped a cigar.
“...a wrestler?”
And he unclenches.
“Yeah. I am. Yes.” Allen says.
“Can I get an autograph?”
“I would but you know. Covid.” Allen says. He loved having that as an excuse not to interact with people. He’d almost miss it when it was gone.
“Ah gotcha. Alright. Well, enjoy your meal.”
Allen waits for him to leave and opens the door and grabs his food. The door slams closed incredibly fast, causing Bill to jump slightly. Allen was making his nap time difficult.
“...but we all get the shot for different reasons. Some people want to travel. Some people have immunocompromised family members… Some people can’t cum unless someone coughs directly in their mouth. All valid reasons and certainly no one should be shamed for wanting any of those very normal things that normal people definitely want and are into. I’m on Tindr AND Grindr by the way.” Allen says. It gets a good laugh from the crowd. Allen takes a sip from the Jack and Coke set on his stool beside an untouched bottle of water and a notebook filled with scribbled joke notes. Allen lets it get quiet. He does that on purpose. The quiet helps with the shock of his next line.
“I think more people should kill themselves on April Fools Day.”
Sudden laughter from the crowd. Uncomfortable laughter. Allen’s favorite. That’s the great thing about laughter really. It’s associated with Joy but you can laugh with any emotion.
We find ourselves back on the sitcom set that Allen had previously fucked up with a sledgehammer; only the damage he had done had been repaired. Allen enters through the front door. He was in a suit and everything was in black and white.
ALLEN CHANEY: What...in the name of fucking WandaVision… huh. No other characters though, right?
Allen hears no response and he breathes a sigh of relief.
ALLEN CHANEY: I just...I’m done dealing with wacky bullshit and-
GUY WHO BURST INTO THE ROOM: HEY NEIGHBOR!
ALLEN CHANEY: GOD DAMN IT. No. no, we aren’t doing this today. Hard pass. The hardest pass. The hardest pass is a Powerbomb.
THE GUY WHO JUST ENTERED RIGHT BEFORE GETTING POWERBOMBED: Wha-
Sure enough, Allen nails the man with a Bionic Elbow that doubles him over and Gutwrench powerbombs him through the coffee table. We get the feeling it’s gonna be difficult for the production team to hire actors for any future bits after this but also that’s kind of the point because Allen hates people. That’s two coffee tables now though. Poor coffee tables. Allen sighs before looking up to the camera.
ALLEN CHANEY: So things didn’t go as planned. That happens. I’ve failed at more things than I can count and I still show up for work. That over-the-top-rope crap was always bunk anyway. The edgelord shithead who won the title knows deep down in his heart that if he had been facing me one-on-one and didn’t have a skinny dipshit to toss at me that he’d have a much sorer neck and I’d have a big shiny belt. You try and talk like you know me. Running down everything I’ve tried and failed to do. Well you show me a man who's never failed and I’ll show you a man who’s never really applied himself to anything. My list of failures is only rivalled by my list of successes. But hey, speaking of string bean…
Allen pokes the guy on the ground with his foot. No response. That’s probably bad but dammit we have a promo to film.
ALLEN CHANEY: Do you think you’re under my skin, Pinkston? Dude, I haven’t wasted a drop of sweat on you and at over 300 pounds I sweat getting off of the couch too fast. Anyone who's seen you in the ring knows you’re a joke. Well speaking as a comedian to a joke, you’re my bitch. You keep talking about how lucky you are and how great life is going for you. That’s neat. I bet that’s real neat and I’m happy you tricked some dumb irrelevant broad you can’t shut up about to let you slide your tiny chihuahua dick in her face but contrary to this idea of yours that I ‘can’t take a joke’ you can go on heckling all you want. Don’t bother me none. You want to take this to the next level? Your luck runs out. I don’t care about anything else that’s happened to you in your past. The moment YOU make the call to escalate this?
Allen points to the camera.
ALLEN CHANEY: I’m gonna be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. You fuck up and I’m gonna fuck up your life even worse than whoever did those shitty tattoos. When the time comes for this Impulse Championship match you do yourself an immense favor and stay out of my way. Go home. Be a Family Man. Maybe train up some more and you’ve got a shot in this industry. Don’t fuck that up for yourself. You wave red in front of a big bull and you get the horns.
Allen holds up his hand with horns up for emphasis.
ALLEN CHANEY: And as one might say when they see a dork on a tiny scooter; there’s a fucking segway! Let’s talk about the tale of Ferdinand the Bull. Ferdinand the Bull is a children's story. It’s from back in 1936 before anyone knew what they were fucking talking about. They thought cigarettes were healthy and this story wasn’t absolute dog shit and then World War II happened so way to absolutely suck dick at everything EVERYONE IN 1936.
The guy Allen put through the table lets out a groan but Allen puts a firm boot to him and he goes quiet again.
ALLEN CHANEY: The Story of Ferdinand is a story about a bull who looks huge and threatening but was just absolutely the shittiest at being a bull. He gets booked for a match I mean bullfight and doesn’t do anything because he sucks. The audience hates it because even if the bull is built like a fucking Tank if it sucks at being a bull then like… are we catching on to the metaphor yet you dense bitches? Cool. Rad. Cool and rad.
Allen gives a thumbs up.
ALLEN CHANEY: I’m a bull who knows how to be a bull. So you go ahead and sniff your flowers, dumbass. I’ll run right fucking through you like Del Taco through a cheating vegan. This happy sunshine and sparkles bullshit? No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to push that shit right now the way the world is. Allow me to welcome you to reality the only way I know how. I’m gonna beat the hell out of you. A good comedian can make you laugh. A GREAT Comedian can make you think. Can make you laugh without lying to you. Everything fucking sucks. Dumb hicks think horse drugs are healthy and that this era’s Ferdinand might not be absolute dog shit and World War III is probably about happen so way to absolutely suck as much dick as everyone did in 1936, everyone in 2021. No one has learned anything, Ferdinand sucks, and people in Alabama are free of horse worms and functioning brain stems. For you to show up smiling and talking about rainbows? Dude, either share your coke or shut the fuck up.
Allen walks around to the other side of the coffee table. He snaps his fingers and everything is in color. He’s wearing his ring gear and the set is back to being destroyed.
ALLEN CHANEY: It’s time you ALL learned how things actually work. No problem that actually matters gets wrapped up in 22 minutes with commercials. You all hide from reality on twitter, telling someone you’re gonna dump in 4 months how much you love them and how perfect your lives are. This company needs me because I AM Reality and I know I’m not pretty. Hell I’m downright ugly but I’m gonna make you all look and fucking DEAL with it.
Allen points to his face, making us all look at it.
ALLEN CHANEY: It ain’t just Pinky and Ferdinand. This WHOLE WORLD is a fucking joke and when the whole world is a joke? The Comedian is fucking GOD. Setup. Punchline.
Allen balls the hand pointing at his face into a fist and his snarl gives way to a smirk as we fade out.
“It is what it is.”
“It’s bullshit is what it is.” Allen says to the enormous retired man sitting across from him.
“After the incident at the after-party they enacted a well-being clause in your contract. My hands are tied. OUR hands are tied.” Daniel Fitzsimmons says.
“Un-fucking-tie them then. This is a waste of my time.” Allen says.
“Right. You being incredibly busy all the time. I feel like this will fall on deaf ears but perhaps I should mention that this is absolutely 100% your fault. Your name on the contract. We both read this contract together. This was always a possibility.” Daniel says, cutting into his steak.
“I had a few cocktails and went home and passed out. That’s not a crime.” Allen says as the salad Daniel ordered for him is set in front of him.
“Is this a fat thing?” Allen asks.
“No, YOU are a fat thing. You also don’t seem to remember what happened that night very well. You were a disaster at that party and when they finally got you out you hit an uber driver. You woke up in your own bed after I bailed you out and TOOK you there. I’m an old man with bad knees and a family, Mr. Chaney. I don’t need to be woken up at 4 AM to carry all 350 pounds of you to your sad single cat-dad apartment.” Daniel says, taking a sip of his wine as Allen’s glass of water is refilled, mocking Allen in it’s refusal to not be a beer.
“I’m getting a pinball table. Pinball tables aren’t sad.” Allen says, trying to justify it. He genuinely didn’t remember being in the drunk tank.
“This isn’t just about the drinking, Mr. Chaney. You aren’t well.” Daniel says.
“Oh come on. Are you gonna pretend to care? Be the dad you never were to Ollie and Johnny?” Allen says. Daniel gives Allen a look that says Allen was about to cross a line. The habitual line-stepper breaks the habit just this once and goes quiet.
“You’ll never hear it more honestly than this, Mr. Chaney. I care because if you are unwell and you do not go to therapy for it you will cease to make money which means I will cease to make money off of you. You and your cat living in a car working indies and open mics. Sound like fun? I don’t give a single damn about you as a person, Mr. Chaney but if you and I are going to continue to make money then this is happening. If not, I’ll pay for your lunch and be on my merry way, is that what you need to hear?” Daniel asks.
Truth be told it was exactly what Allen needed to hear. He and Bill had become accustomed to a certain level of comfort. There is no temper to Daniel’s voice.
“Fine.” Allen says.
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll let them know.” Daniel says before taking a bite of his steak.
There is a moment of silence.
“So therapy? Really?” Allen asks.
“Yes. Therapy. Really.” Daniel says. Allen sighs and puts a forkful of salad into his mouth and sighs as he chews. He wished he’d had a steak instead. He wished he didn’t have to go to therapy. And as he reflected on the fact that this is the first meaningful conversation he’d had in a month that wasn;t with himself or his cat, he wished it wasn’t true that he probably actually NEEDED the therapy.
“...Fuck.”
'Have you ever had one of those moments when you look up and realize that you're one of those people you see on the train talking to themselves?'
-Marc Maron 
