'THE COMEDIAN' ALLEN CHANEY
Season 1: Episode 7
A CHICKEN AND SOME VULTURES
Christmas Eve. 2019.
Cancelled.
They wouldn’t even finish out the season.
News had broken earlier that day and Allen hadn’t received a text from his boyfriend (who was cheating on him) or any of the people he had come to know as a ‘friend’ because all of them were busy helping the Devil fight clowns or whatever the fuck was happening. That was definitely more important than him.
Allen had just spent a good hour shouting himself hoarse at a network executive as well as his agent and all but guaranteed he would not find work in this industry for quite some time.
A writers room full of idiots turning his life's work into the fucking Big Bang Theory in Kickpads.
But The Big Bang Theory was, you know… Successful and had multiple seasons. It sucked trying to even make sense of this.
Everything was spiraling downward. That’s what it felt like. It’s that feeling like the ground is uneven and shifting but that’s really just your own legs.
Everything is swirling around you and you’re just the turd in the middle trying not to be flushed.
He walks in the direction of his condo and stops on the sidewalk to take a nice deep breath before loudly announcing his feelings to the world.
“FUCK!”That summed it up pretty well. No response save for the scattering of all the stray animals in this otherwise very nice neighborhood. He put it out there into the world and the world had nothing to say back to him. No comfort. No warmth.
In the distance he heard Christmas music.
Before today he really really used to like the Holidays.
Allen walks into the liquor store within spitting distance of his home and barely acknowledges the man behind the counter as he grabs a bottle of Jack and a 2 liter of Coke before heading to the front and paying.
“Do you want a bag?”
The boozemonger asks.
“Neh.” Allen says, barely forming a word in his current mental state.
“Right then, Merry Christmas.”
“Happy Holidays.” Allen manages to say on instinct as he collects his bottles.
“We say ‘Merry Christmas’ in this store.” The man behind the counter says in a condescending and scolding tone. Something broke in the mind of Allen Chaney and he had to go away. So, The Comedian took over.
“Oh…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t celebrate New Years Eve.”“What?”
"I’m just saying that even if I DID buy into your dipshit theological superhero fantasy birthday party that CHRISTMAS and NEW YEARS EVE are both fucking holidays so when I say ‘HAPPY HOLIDAYS’ I am referring to two separate holidays because it saves a lot of fucking time. You see some people don’t like to make things complicated and instead simplify things. It’s the reason your Dad fucked your Mom because dating is really difficult and it’s much easier to travel the short distance to his sisters room so she can eventually birth the biggest fucking moron on the west coast who’s apparently afraid Santa and the Flying Jew are gonna cast a curse upon his liquor store unless he acts like a condescending prick to every stranger offering him a different pleasantry than he wanted. Keep the change. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Blessed Yule, Happy Hanukkah, Have a groovy Kwanzaa, Happy Life Day, Eat a big holly jolly pile of my shit.” Allen says before tossing his coin change back over the counter at the man and walking away with both bottles tucked in his arms.
TMZ picked up that story the next day. Of course they did. Failed sitcom star goes on an ‘anti-religious’ tirade at a liquor store.
Allen walks up to his condo and fumbles for his keys for a few moments before opening the door. It was an incredibly nice condo that within a few months he would no longer be making enough money to afford. He was attempting to comfort himself that people who had failed sitcoms tended to do really well on the stand-up circuit. Surely he would be okay and there wasn’t about to be a world-shuttering pandemic that would bring him to the brink of financial ruin.
Rustling. He heard rustling.
He looks down at the box he has right under his mailbox where he just drops junk mail and inside of that box there was…
A cat?
Allen squats and sets his bottles down before reaching to touch the cat and it was…much colder than he had been anticipating.
Dead.
It was a dead cat.
He was touching a dead cat.
Allen quickly yanks his hand away and releases what can only be described as an ‘I just touched a dead cat’ noise.
But there was still rustling. Allen looks at his hand. He looks at the dead cat. He looks at his hand again. Ultimately he decides that it didn;t make much of a difference now as he had already touched the dead cat and he lifts said dead cat to find something very much not dead underneath.
A teeny little kitten. Couldn’t have been more than a few days old. If it was part of a litter then his brothers and sisters were long gone by now. If he had to guess it looked like maybe his mama passed away pretty soon after giving birth while this one was feeding and she ended up on top of him. He was trapped under there.
Making little cries for help that no one could hear.
Allen bends down and very very carefully takes the small grey kitten with white paws into his hands and brings him closer to his face.
And he releases the tiniest and weakest little mewl Allen had ever heard.
Which was as close to Allen’s screaming ‘FUCK!’ on the sidewalk earlier as the little guy could muster so the two of them understood each other on that level at the very least. Allen’s grip wasn’t too tight but the kitten was very fond of the warmth radiating from it. So he gives his hand a weak little nudge with the top of his head.
“Alright. Alright yeah. It’s warmer in here, bud.” Allen says. He walks through the open door of his condo and closes it behind him with his elbow, walking past his big framed poster of Bill Hicks on the way to find a blanket to get the kitten all nice and wrapped up in.
It’s hard to say in the coming months which one of them saved the other more.
As the heart of the Comedian grew colder and denser, there was always a warmth at the very center that could not be extinguished.
And that was Bill.
Even though he’d never say it, Allen loved Bill.
And Allen would do anything to keep Bill safe.
“I’m not a ‘Cat Guy’. I’m a MY Cat Guy. I don’t give a fuck about your cats. If I go to your house I’ll pretend to out of politeness. I’ll be like ‘Awwwww!’ but secretly I’ll be thinking ‘What a sad, fat, dumb, ugly cat you have.”
-Marc Maron
Christmas Eve. 2021.
Bill was nice and warm, asleep on top of Allen’s tummy as Allen writes notes in a notebook for his upcoming ‘Christmas Special’. Bill awoke and noticed there was still food in his food bowl. This fit right into his plans. He walks over to the food bowl and takes a few bites and then…
Rustling. Allen heard rustling.
He looks over his notebook.
“No…”
There was Bill. Bill was convulsing violently on the floor, his limbs rigid and having left a bit of a mess on the floor. The mess does not bother Allen.
“No no no nononononono NO!”
Allen scoops up the cat in his arms. The fat man then runs out of the room faster than he likely ever had in his entire life and sprints in the direction of the veterinary office just right down the street, bursting through the door with zero regard for the safety of the person on the other side of the door he basically just ran right through. He also ran out of his house and to the vet with absolutely zero regard for the fact he was in boxers.
“HELP! HELP BILL!” are the only words that Allen manages to get out, he snatches a clipboard of paper work put in front of him and hands Bill off to someone wearing medical scrubs that had little paw prints on it.
Fortunately this place was open the day before Christmas and even MORE fortunately it didn’t seem to be very busy so they were quick to take Bill in the back and do as the pantsless shouting fat man said. Someone brought Allen a blanket to cover up with and he just nods at them. With Bill out of his sight and no longer in his hands Allen falls back into the waiting room chair like his legs have just completely given up and makes a half-hearted attempt to get started on the paperwork but the pen just falls from his hand.
Allen feels his entire foundation crumble away.
There are no jokes to fall back on. There is no single thing to lash out at or piledrive that can make this feeling go away.
The sobbing comes and it is uncontrollable.
He’d never cried so hard in his 34 years of existence.
Allen wakes up on the couch of the sitcom set and stretches out, releasing a big hearty yawn. Allen’s eyes are pretty red. Maybe he hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately. He stands and looks at the floating ghost there in his fake living room. Allen blinks. Twice.
UNNAMED GHOST: Allen Chaney! I am the Ghost of Chr-
ALLEN CHANEY: No.
UNNAMED GHOST: Uh…What?
ALLEN CHANEY: No no no. No. We aren’t doing this. Not only is it played out it is…
Allen takes out his phone.
ALLEN CHANEY: It is December 27th right now as we’re filming this. People are getting ready for New Years Eve. Hang on.
Allen walks away, leaving the Ghost floating there.
We cut to Allen walking into a room of nerdy dudes sitting around a table with their laptops open holding a script in his hand.
ALLEN CHANEY: Hey, assholes! Really? A Christmas Carol parody? And in the end I wake up and it’s all a dream? This is the most hack shit I have ever read! Why the hell did I ever think it was a good idea to hire a writing staff?
WRITER: Uh… because you were supposed to have something written by Christmas and you didn’t? That’s what you told us.
ALLEN CHANEY: I had a thing come up. Alright, fine. I’ll have to improv a little.
WRITER: Oh we can actually help out with that, we’re actually all in an improv comedy group.
Allen’s eye twitches. He yanks the writer out of his chair and swiftly scoop slams him through the table.
ALLEN CHANEY: Improv groups are just a gathering of shitty stand-up comics. You’re all fucking fired.
A DIFFERENT WRITER: Uh… we actually just ordered lunch can we wait til our Doordasher gets here?
ALLEN CHANEY: Oh…uh. Yeah, sure. I’m not a monster.
A groan escapes the mouth of the man laying in the wreckage of the writers room table.
We cut back to the sitcom set where the suspended ghost was having a cigarette. Allen walks back in and the Ghost flicks it off-screen.
ALLEN CHANEY: Okay ghost, what’s your name?
UNNAMED GHOST: Damian Marley.
Allen is visibly confused.
ALLEN CHANEY: Like… Like Bob Marley’s son? The rapper?
DAMIAN MARLEY: I think it’s supposed to be like that Damian Ayla guy and Jacob Marley from the Christmas Carol story.
ALLEN CHANEY: Wow. That’s pretty terrible.
DAMIAN MARLEY: I mean, a gig is a gig.
ALLEN CHANEY: Look I’ll make sure you get paid for the day but I think we’re gonna go in a different direction. I’m just gonna talk shit on everyone.
DAMIAN MARLEY: Isn’t that what you typically do?
ALLEN CHANEY: Yeah but like...
Allen decides to change the subject.
ALLEN CHANEY: So I’ve always promised myself that if I ever saw a ghost I would try and have sex with it, it’d be important ot he scientific community and also I really want to rub it in the face of Zak Bagans.
DAMIAN MARLEY: Who?
ALLEN CHANEY: Ghost Adventures guy. Not important.
DAMIAN MARLEY: I’m not an actual ghost.
ALLEN CHANEY: I know I just…Whatever. I was trying to mine for a bit there and there's clearly nothing. I shoulda just done Mr. Rogers again., we still have the set.
Some guys from the crew remove the Ghost from his harness and he leaves. Allen awkwardly clears his throat before turning to face the camera. Deep breath. Game face. Don’t think about your cat. Bills need to get paid.
ALLEN CHANEY: Why did the vultures cross the road?
Allen pauses.
ALLEN CHANEY: Because the Chicken was about to get hit by a car.
Allen gives us jazz hands and a big smile to try and sell that terrible terrible joke.
ALLEN CHANEY: You may now award me my ‘Greatest Joke of All Time’ trophy, redeemable for one free handjob from the ‘Ruler of all Comedy’ but also if you win the award it MAKES you the Ruler of All Comedy so basically you just get to jerk yourself off while holding a real neat trophy. Ironically, Louis CK wasn’t interested in ever accepting this trophy because the people presenting it to him didn’t want to stick around and watch. They had all learned their lesson after Bill Cosby accepted the trophy and got one of them to sip a drink from it.
Jazz hands again.
ALLEN CHANEY: But enough jokes about sex monsters who almost ruined my love for one of my careers. It’s time to talk about the Excellence Invitational and the legion of nobodies I am now forced to piledrive my way through to get a title shot. Of course it makes a lot of sense that Pinky-Dick is getting a shot at the title instead of me because of his most recent victory over me which I think we can run a clip of right now.
ALLEN CHANEY: Hm. Seems we can’t find any footage of that happening. I wonder if there is a very very good reason for that. Oh! Right. How silly of me. IT’S BECAUSE IT DIDN’T FUCKING HAPPEN. If you need ANY more proof of Damian ‘Pwetty pwease spell my name right’ Ayla making an effort to keep away from me all you have to look at is the main event of this show. The fact that our top two singles champions on this show are starting the new year with matches against Lewis Chad ‘Doesn’t know a wristlock from a wristwatch’ Pinkston and Amber ‘Literally just the absolute fucking worst’ Payne should tell every single one of you what the score is right now. This lie that we are all being fed that outside competition is being brought in because the PWE roster can’t cut it? It’s horseshit. It is a narrative being driven by a manipulator. I will make fun of ‘Doctor Who-Gives-A-Fuck’ Betsy Granger five hours a day every day of the week for the rest of my life but to say some random dipshit off the street deserves a title shot before she gets another crack? That’s an opinion our Champ scooped straight from Ollie Dorito’s litter box.
Allen does a hand motion mimicking ‘scooping. A lot of these narrations are just hand motions being described. Sorry about that.
ALLEN CHANEY: Damon can tweet about how eager he is for me to win every single day. That’s not what he really wants. The King invited the enemy army to our gates and then fucked off to play checkers with the Village Idiot. Leaving the Jester-Knight face-to-face with the Invaders from far off lands. The Knight tightens his grip on his sword and he smiles. He’s gonna fight off the Invaders and then he is going to walk right up to the King and say exactly five words right into his ear.
Allen leans in as if wanting to speak face-to-face to a seated individual.
ALLEN CHANEY: ‘You’re in my fucking seat.’
Allen goes back to a standing position and folds his arms.
ALLEN CHANEY: I'm not going to claim to be the smartest dude but I'm not a fucking idiot. I know bait when I see it, Damian. I know this whole song and dance with Pinky-Dick is probably an attempt to get in my head but you know what?
Allen just sort of shrugs.
ALLEN CHANEY: Nothing gets me harder than seeing Pinkston getting his ass beat so go nuts. Have a ball. Have two balls. Seriously, cut off his balls. I'll grab some popcorn and watch. I’m only waiting for Damian’s proper invitation because I’m trying to be on my best behavior lately. See, I want a shot at that title and I don’t get the preferential treatment other folks get around here. I’m not allowed to go breaking peoples arms or mysteriously and MAGICALLY attack people backstage without being punished like other folks in this company which I think we can all agree is fair, cool, and neat. All you have to do is say the word, Damian. I’ll pull right up, stand right in front of you and tell you you’re a bitch right to your bland unmemorable face and then I will invite you to fucking do something about it.
That’s gonna have to pass for a segue to talking about his opponent, Allen realizes.
ALLEN CHANEY: Hey, speaking of really bland and unmemorable people… Listen, Wrath or Wraith or whatever the fuck. I don’t give a shit of how good a wrestler the people who fucked to make you are. You coulda been raised by wolves and you still wouldn’t be as fucking ferocious as I am. I coulda had something nice to say about you but as it currently stands you are one of the Invaders so fuck you, fuck your family, fuck your dumbass single syllable name and if you’re as young as I hear you are and from the looks of you the only thing you’re qualified to tell me is how much my Auntie Anne’s Pepperoni Pretzel bites are gonna cost because the mall pretzel stand is the closest place to your house that would hire you after you got fired from the Hot Topic also in the mall because the fellow cashier in the Hollywood Undead shirt you fucked was 16 years old but your folks had enough money to get that swept right under the rug.
Allen clears his throat a little bit.
ALLEN CHANEY: Sorry I know those completely made-up tangents I tend to go on are based on absolutely zero evidence and entirely my perception but I’ve already planted the idea seed of our top Champion being a necrophiliac so if I can get a crowd full of the PWE faithful chanting ‘Pretzel Boy’ at this attempted THIEF then I will be one happy fat fuck. Imagine this guy walking to the back after eating the $7.99 Punchline and a Pin combo and looking for some kind of solace in the reaction of the crowd and it’s just PRETZEL BOY PRETZEL BOY PRETZEL BOY.
Allen seems to take a moment to imagine this scenario and smiles to himself. We even get a little bit of a chuckle.
ALLEN CHANEY: Worf, I’ve never met you before but holy fuck do I feel like I’ve fought you like 50 times in my life. If you showed me a picture of this dude and said 'This is William Blake Mason' I'd just kind of nod in agreement and wonder why you showed me that picture. It feels like I’m fighting the Bulbasaur version of Vincent Black who would be the Venusaur in this situation. If I have to explain ‘dork’ to you Venusaur is the evolved version of Bulbasaur. It’s bigger and better. Also I beat that Venusaur. And Venusaur was hotter. I mean, I’m not saying that Venusaur the Pokemon is attractive, I was talking about Vincent Black and… Okay hang on. I don’t want to fuck any Pokemon. Unless it’s a Ghost Pokemon because I’ve established I would definitely have sex with a ghost if given the opportunity but only because to deny the sexual advances of a ghost would be detrimental to the scienitifc advances of humanity. To make real consensual physical contact with the afterlife and potentially be able to record it would change the literal world and also you would get to nut. Or would you? If ghosts can interact with physical objects but not with humans would they potentially be able to… whatever. I binged Ghost Adventures during the pandemic and I’ve been thinking about this a lot.
Allen thinks about Ghost-fucking for a few more moments before shaking it off and carrying on.
ALLEN CHANEY: Let me put out the following message out to people who call themselves edgy things like ‘Wraith’ or openly refer to themselves as ‘Intellectual’ and imply that everything that happens to them is all part of some master supervillain plan and they are 15 steps ahead of us all.
Allen takes a deep breath and puts his hands together, ready to ‘tell it like it is’ even if some people are going to have trouble hearing it.
ALLEN CHANEY: We all think you’re a fucking goober and on behalf of everyone else I am going to bully you and steal your lunch money until you go away. If you’re watching this and thinking ‘Yes! All of those people aren’t as dark and mysterious and intelligent as I am, you tell them Allen!’ well it turns out you are Double Goober with an extra side of Goober fries. I can’t believe I am about to say this but look at L-mmmmphGah.
Allen stops for a moment as if he has to choke back bile rising in his throat. The words he is about to say are THAT difficult to get out.
ALLEN CHANEY: Look at Lewis Chad Pinkston. Pinky-Dick is absolutely NOT someone I would ever call a friend and doesn’t for a SECOND deserve the shot he has been handed at the Excellence Championship but he also never pretends to be something he isn’t. At the end of every PWE show people are talking about myself and LCP and I want you all to think really hard about why that is. Maybe apply some of your findings to your boring ass life.
After what seems like a bit of reflection on what he’s said Allen looks at the camera again.
ALLEN CHANEY: Holly Rhodes implied that I act the way I do because I’m secretly miserable and hate myself when I’m not on camera or in a wrestling ring. I don’t exactly understand the point she was trying to make there because A. Things are going pretty fucking fantastic and my life outside of the ring is like if Teacher had a Pizza Party AND the Scholastic Book Fair was at your school on the SAME DAY which is basically as happy as a human is capable of being and B. The only Allen Chaney any of you need to concern yourselves with is the one in the ring. That Allen is only focused on a single thing. He’s not trying to figure out his setlist for UCB. He’s not thinking about what they’re serving in catering. He is there to hurt you and move on to bigger and better things. Yes one of those things is in fact ‘catering’ but mainly I meant to my next opponent and then eventually The Excellence Championship.
A pause for emphasis.
ALLEN CHANEY: I am the man to beat in this tournament and I take one look at everyone competing? And not a single one of you has the sack. You’re going to tell me I’m fat. You’re going to tell me I’m a loser. You’re going to tell me I’m not funny and then make the ‘Wow you really are funny if you think you’re going to win’ joke I’ve heard a hundred god damn times now. You’ll tell me I’m an evil piece of shit like I don’t already know it. Well, a few months from now I’ll be strapping the Excellence title around my fat fucking waist and you’ll all be lining up to tell me how my dick tastes.
Allen points downward. This is either indicate the location of his aforementioned ‘fat fucking waist’ or the ‘dick’ we will all be informing him of the flavor of eventually.
ALLEN CHANEY: That’s the soundbite I want played when I win this whole fucking thing. That was my ‘Babe Ruth pointing past the bleachers’ moment. This is my called shot. All you Vultures circling around that chicken waiting for a car to come when all of a sudden a big fat fucking boar comes out of nowhere and guess what? Bird is on the menu..and that starts with the greedy vultures thinking they were gonna get fed… and the main course will be the spineless fucking Chicken.
Allen smirks.
ALLEN CHANEY: It may not be the ending to the joke you wanted but it’s the one you’re getting. Setup. Punchline.
“Mr. Chaney?”
Allen is startled by this and looks up, his eyes completely red from crying. He is looking at a grown man wearing medical scrubs with a design that says ‘Totally Paw-some’ on it and in his current state Allen is able to see this and not immediately make fun of him.
And then Allen is handed a very very sleepy kitty.
The warmth in the middle of the cold and calcified ball in Allen’s chest returns as he feels the little guy start to stir a little in his hands.
“So Bill here… well this is very rare but Bill is epileptic so he is gonna need a little bit of help taking medication every day. He’s gonna need to take what’s called an anti-convulsant every single day. You also need to be monitoring his behavior when there is any kind of significant shift in activity. When you feed him, when he is woken up, when you give him a treat, when you play with him. He should be okay on the meds but just monitor to the best of your ability. As long as you can do that Bill is going to be fine.” the man says.
“Bill…is going to be fine.” Allen says, repeating to himself the most important part of what the veterinarian in the dumb scrubs said. Oh he was listening to the other parts and he would do everything the man said. He’d give Bill his meds. He would keep such a close eye on him.
Bill looks up at Allen and blinks a few times. It had been a strange day. He was not in control of himself for a brief period of time and it was all very scary. He did not like that when things were back to normal he was not with his human but now seeing that his human was holding him he was pleased. He had some degree of understanding that something bad had happened and that his human had made the bad thing stop happening. He appreciated that. He was back in control and wasn’t scared anymore.
Bill taps his head to the palm of Allen’s hand and Allen responds just like he is supposed to and gives him scritches. Bill liked that he could get the scritches pretty much whenever he wanted. Bill liked that his human gave him food. Bill liked that if something bad happened again his human would do his best to try and help.
Cats are often labelled as cold and uncaring but there was one thing aside from food and naps that Bill cared about very much.
And that was Bill’s human.
And though he wasn’t able to say it, Bill loved his human.
And Bill would do anything to keep his human safe.
