Tim Dillon Talks

More Tim. Less Ted

[timdillontalks]

I went to a community college with a good food court (Taco Bell) and won a national debate championship high. I chose not to continue my educational career because I became involved with the burgeoning field of selling financial products that would later be called toxic assets. I often wonder what my life would've been like if I had gone to a small liberal arts school like most of you did. Like most of you I imagine I would be happier and not funny. I visited my friends at colleges and it mostly consisted or copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. People of all races and genders hitting bongs all day, getting drunk in the morning before a football game, eating cereal at night, watching documentaries about aliens and CIA mind control, bonding with whatever life forms lived in the college town. "That's Tom he took a bad hit of acid a while back. He's fun but sometimes he just starts screaming". People would have gross mattress on floor sex. This world was fun to visit. It was never entirely for me. I was not to listen to some hippie professor prattle on about nothing for hours. I was drawn to the operators: people whose way in the world was forged by their ability to apply coercion, to manipulate, to arrange situations in ways favorable to them. The people who stuffed all their childhood traumas into a bag and tossed it out the window of a Range Rover going 100 miles an hour. The unexamined life IS worth living in Scarsdale. But I saw a value in the old houses and college towns, the sexual freedom and the drug experimentation, the debates, the collision of cultures and ideas. Now college is a Stalinist factory of conformity where children are taught to fear speech and ideas and live sad sexless lives attached to their phones. It's a nightmare of organic food and crying. I never regretted my decision to not pursue higher education. Whenever someone says something dismissive about that I always smile. "Someone as smart as you should've gone to college." I watched people make and lose millions, economies crumble, world's emerge and disappear. By 22 I was mired in the type of debt it generally takes a life time to accrue. I watched a friend go from making 50K a month to delivering pizzas. And then 6 months later I was at his funeral. This was right around the time my friends from college were graduating. I have always loved incredibly damaged people who don't live in that place. The ones who move on. The ones who make things. I loved visiting my friends at college. But I'll never forget what one boss said to me "Tim I'll always be rich. You know why? Because everything else is boring". I'll never forget that. Long live the crook. Burn these colleges to the ground and make all these faggots pound the phone.

[timdillontalks]

I had brunch at Friedmans today, at the suggestion of another comic, which was my first mistake, because I never solicit or accept food advice from clowns. I sat down and realized I was in a food allergy factory. Sad millennials whose tummies can't handle bread got lectures from waiters who assured them that they've "come to the right place" and "we use clarified butter, it makes a difference". Sickly male substitutes took the woman who fondled their little boy penis last night out for a breakfast which was much like their lovemaking, hormone free. The waiters never left the table. They just rambled on about organic milk and free range chicken. Like a human sneeze guard they protected the customers from tainted meat. You looked around and saw people eating chicken and waffles and pancakes with berry compote. There was nothing healthy about the menu. It was the land of make believe. People with made up ailments were being treated by fake doctors peddling junk cures. Health isn't putting free range fried chicken on a waffle. Health is no fried chicken. It's no waffle. The conversation I overheard consisted mainly of someone having an anxiety attack while a waiter assured them that it was in fact "almond milk." I wanted a bleeding waiter with exposed cuts to spit in my coffee in front of me. I wanted someone to hand me a piece of French toast with their bare hand and then dig deep in their ass. I miss seeing short order cooks smoke cigarettes while they sauté shit. I made eye contact with a woman as soon as I sat down and blew my nose loudly into a napkin. I then opened it to see the progression of my cold. The mucus had gone back to yellowish from a green. These were good signs. Life is beautiful. We're all animals and we're eating animals and we're unclean and we can pay good money to pretend we're something else but we're not. This website has positioned you more than anything you've eaten. I promise you that.

[timdillontalks]

Celebrities say stupid things. They say racist things. They say homophobic things. They're just like us, except much richer. Web sites that exist solely to profile every tweet a celebrity sends bother me more than someone calling me a faggot. And I know that many "comedians" will end up working for these web sites because they lack the moral fiber to get involved in a more noble business like human trafficking. I'm gonna go ahead and blow your mind. Ready. Come here. Listen close. People aren't famous because they're good people. I know! Imagine that! They're famous because they're talented, they work hard, maybe they're sociopaths, maybe they're lucky, and really who cares. If you looked up to a celebrity after the age of 9, you should see a doctor. If you identify with someone who travels in a private plane while you wait for an E train next to someone who's punching the wall, YOU'RE mentally ill. If you think the rich and powerful are offensive when they talk you should see what else they do! Now I'm not saying it's not your right to call people out, or to have feelings. I know you all love to have them! But as soon as you tear someone down you'll be building someone up again. You desperately want Gods. When you write articles that start "I can no longer support..." I know this is a tantrum of a child. This child like wonder you all seem to have held on to long past it being appropriate (age 10) always amazes me. Spoiler: Santa Claus isn't real but if he was you'd write an article "Santa still visiting predominantly Christians."

[timdillontalks]

At the bar of my favorite steakhouse in Long Island sitting next to an 80 year old guy I know Him "You still selling mortgages?" Me "No I'm a comedian" Him (sips martini) "You move from one bullshit thing to the next"

[timdillontalks]

"I love this fucking weather. So crisp. I imagine a small New England town. The smell of a waffle baking in a diner where some stoned kids hang out. Some pumpkin muffin with maple butter seductively melting next to a cup of strong coffee in the morning. A cup of Earl Grey on the porch in the evening. A few cookies. An old dog." Uber driver "In Pakistan we have mangos" Me "You're not listening"

[timdillontalks]

Why you should use me as a feature/host on the road 1) Strong act 2) I will stand in the back of the club while you're on and say to the manager "this ain't great" 3) After you get off stage I will apologize to the audiences regardless of how well you did "_____ is having a rough night. We're sorry about that." 4) I will tell you why your family is poor. 5) I like to get the audience warmed up by leaving them in a state of confused panic. 6) Right before you take the mic I will look you in the eyes and say "All the doubts and the fear you have, you're right, you're nothing"

[timdillontalks]

Somewhere in Bushwick 2025 Man sits in chair drinking staring at fire. Child "Why is daddy angry?" Mother "Your father has had a rough life. He did open mics for 15 years" Child "Why?" Mother "Because it took Louie a long time" Child "I don't think Louie did open mics for 15 years" Mother "Your father is a good man. He tried very hard" Child "Every picture is of him getting high?" Father charges in from other room. He whacks the child with the fire poker. The child falls to the ground "I had TimeOut NY joke of the week you faggot." The wife screams "Don't hurt him". The father says "Okay I won't hurt him". He instructs the boy "Get up and roast your old man". The boy says through tears "I don't want to". The father goes to pick up the poker again. The boy scrams "Okay let's roast, dad you're so old you remember Good Times, which is what you called the end of WWI." The father "Well you're a faggot!" He turns to wife "You judge!" The wife is trying to form words while shaking and crying "Well you just called him a faggot. That's not really a joke". The husband hits her with the fire poker. She falls down. His son uses the opportunity to hit his father with a pot. He's stunned and then falls. The son and mother run out of the house. The father lays on the floor with blood trickling out his mouth. As he loses consciousness he says "I love comedy"

[timdillontalks]

Instagram class structure Rich: Hamptons, rosè, pool parties Middle class: bar crawl, finish line of a 5K, babies Poor: memes, pictures of french fries, religious images.

[timdillontalks]

My mothers friend Dennis died yesterday on a fishing boat in Montauk, the way I imagine he would've wanted it. I met Dennis when my mother rented him a room in the house she was desperately trying to hold on to. He was a Vietnam vet who went through a tough divorce and then went to live in a van in lieu of paying his wife alimony. It was 1999. I was fifteen years old. I was growing up in drug drenched town below sea level on the south shore of Long Island. The generation before me had fraternities, the generation before them had the mob. Mine had drugs, cell phones, and truly transcendent BBQ chicken pizza, the kind where you just throw chicken cutlets smothered in BBQ sauce on top of regular pizza. Dennis loved playing cards and drinking wine out of a plastic cup. He liked showing off his different weapons and imagining how he would use them. He had some of the best lines I had ever heard. One night me and my friend had dropped acid and stayed home (mistake) and my mother was trying to figure out what drug we had done. He said "Patty let them be. It's just acid. You'd ruin anybody's trip." His answer to everything was "life in the big city". You could tell him his best friend died and he'd say "Life in the big city." He would sit chain smoking Marlboro reds while he stared at the fire. He would help my mother collect rent from the other vagrants. He would catch fish which they would eat. I would bounce from crackhouse to crackhouse, occasionally stopping at the one I lived in, to join them for dinner. They'd talk about Vietnam and the mob, gambling and fishing, boats and bankruptcies. His sister went to jail for writing bad checks "Life in the big city". He lost touch with his kids "Life in the big city". When my mother sold the house, he moved into her van, and lived in my grandmothers driveway. Life. In. The. Big. City. There are people you meet that stay with you, not because they taught you any great lesson (that's movie bullshit) but because they remember that you that wasn't you. The in between you. The kid who would steal money and blow it up his nose before you noticed it missing. The liar. The con. The degenerate. And those people still saw some good in you. Or they found something redeeming in the bad. Either way. They knew a you that doesn't exist anymore. They saw you become something else. There are so few of those people. And when they disappear, you disappear, at least a part of you. Last time I saw him he was at my grandmother's wake talking about the gun he had ordered to kill someone who was getting out of jail. "When he gets out, if he fucks with me, I'll kill him". And then he went fishing. Life in the big city.

[timdillontalks]

I don't want to understand why there are people trying to catch imaginary cartoons. I don't want to understand why it is fun to add bunny ears to your photo at 40. I don't want to get it. I don't understand why people are live streaming themselves walk home. I am clearly not above using social media to entertain people as a part of my career. I think it can be a great tool but this is something else. As I am typing this in an uber a woman's phone made a weird sound. She informed me she just caught a Pokemon. Another woman remarked that the France attack was horrible. The woman on her phone agreed and then got very excited because she caught another Pokemon. She is giggling. Something very dark and very disturbing is happening. I wonder if this is a Truman show. I am thinking of taking a week in August and just going to a part of the country I have always wanted to see. We seem to be getting further from nature, and of course. Oceans are a big problem. They stand between us and the Pokemon.

[timdillontalks]

Took my mother out to dinner to a place we had been going since I was a kid. Mother "I remember you. You've been here awhile. You're the only waitress I recognize. You've been here since my son was in junior high" Waitress "17 years, can you imagine that? How scary is that?" Mother "It's amazing you never left" Me "She's not judging. She's in a mental institution" Waitress (sighs) "I would love to be in a mental institution. That's my dream" Me "Well now we're all caught up. What are the specials?"

[timdillontalks]

My grandmother is coming to the end of her life. I saw her last week and she was chipper and as mentally quick as she has always been. I began to complain about something comedy related. She stopped me “Tim you’re doing what you love”. That was all she ever said and all she needed to. Like my grandfather from the other side of the family she hated talking on the phone. She rarely said “I love you.” Instead she opened her house, her wallet, and her heart to everyone she met. She was Christ like, fiercely liberal, brilliant, a graduate of NYU with a degree in psychology she never used professionally. Instead she became a teacher. She loved learning. People I meet will still talk about how she influenced them. She was a nice teacher. She would always say “people say no one will respect you if you’re nice, they’re wrong.” Her husband died when her daughters were 8. He was a drinker and he had a heart attack. She raised her children. She raised me. She would take me into the city for auditions. Recently on my to a comedy show I asked her why I never booked that much acting work “You didn’t really want it” she said. “You want this”. My grandmother said in three words what generations after her couldn’t say in three hundred. One of my favorite things she said to me when we disagreed politically was “You’re an idiot” I would say “That’s not an argument”. She would say “It is. I have a masters degree and you’re an idiot”. She also called me a “louse” often. It was a depression era insult. When someone asked her why I'm Fox News she said plainly “Well he’s a buffoon.” She made the best meatballs in the world, French toast, strawberry pancakes, chicken soup. She would let me listen to talk radio while she drove me around to play practice and dance class. (That’s how gay republicans are born). She supported me more than any other person. Throughout my life she had let me live with her, borrow her car, borrow money. She fed me and bought me clothing. She accepted my sexuality in the realest way possible. She said “You need to get it together to find someone” She celebrated my sobriety. She was in my corner in a very real way. Very few people matter in life. Very few people genuinely care. She isn’t gone yet and she may still rally. But the last time I saw her she gave me a kiss and said “I love you”. And then she told me to “kill them or whatever they say”. I’ll always remember her in her chair with a Dewars on the rocks with a splash of water laughing at British comedies or cursing republicans. She was the best person I knew. When I told her I was gay I said “I hope you’re not disappointed in me”. She said “Oh honey not for that”.

[timdillontalks]

I imagine a great republican convention where Donald Trump introduces Caitlyn Jenner as his running mate. I'm dead serious. I think Jenner is such a great American story. An Olympic athlete turned trans advocate but also more importantly, a successful person who understands winning. Now you say a ticket of two reality stars?!?!? Yes. Yes. Caitlyn doesn't have foreign policy experience but she lived with Armenians. I want her to come out with a gold medal around her neck and say "Listen up you poor faggots the fun is over. Fuck Hillary." Trump behind her "I love trannies, many of them work for me". A crazy fucking dance number. Jenner being like "Being trans doesn't define me. Fuck trannies. Stop worrying what bathroom to use. I got 12 bathrooms in my house". People's heads in the audience literally exploding. Jenner being like "Fuck ISIS!" A large dance number will all furries. Trump "Furries are great people". Blood all over the floor from people's heads exploding. The furries fur is stained with blood but they keep dancing. Lots of pyrotechnics. Caitlyn lobs her cock into the audience. A delegate from Texas grabs it and starts eating it. Caitlyn yells "Now you have the power". Really no one wants this?

[timdillontalks]

Vive la Crêpe Upper west side A young mother is with two children, roughly four or five in age. She orders two crepes both with strawberries, bananas, and Nutella (respect). Then I switch it up. I order "Peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, bananas, and strawberry jam". One of the kids goes nuts "Mommy I want what he got. I want it. I want it". Both children are nodding at me with the utmost respect. The mother stands firm "He's just basically having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You guys have those all the time. He's not getting Nutella". Now one of the kids looks at me quizzically, like his mother had made a decent point. I defend my order to them "Guys I'm getting marshmallow though and you're not". The kid begin to tear up and scream "I want marshmallow" The mother shoots me a dirty look and says to her children "If you have a tantrum no one gets anything." She looks at me and says "My children have spent lots of time in Europe and they got used to Nutella". After the crepes have been made and distributed we're all eating and the kids begin to chant "Nutella, Nutella, Nutella" and I start chanting "Trump" and then the kids start chanting "Trump, Trump, Trump" and the mom goes apeshit "Stop saying that. All of you". She's now yelling at me "Are you a child?" I say "No, sorry" and then we all eat silently and the mother looks at her phone and says "Unbelievable". For like one minute I had a family.

[timdillontalks]

I had dinner with my father at Jordan's lobster and he was talking to his friend. They were talking about the 90s, a magical era where mob owned businesses paid cash, people that called the police about loud music were attacked with bats, and everyone drove home plastered. There were very few accidents. People went out to dinner, they smoked and drank, they carried cash and tipped, they didn't run your credit to sleep on their couch, they solicited and accepted bribes. They were always trying to outsmart the cops and the IRS. This fostered a sense of community. Illegal rentals, off the books jobs, agreements with a handshake, have all been basically eradicated in favor of this Orwellian cashless nightmare where everyone is on the grid in a major way. During my drunken attempt at homeownership I was swimming in debt and became a regular at several local gin mills. These were the last of a dying breed of corner bar. Not to be confused with "speakeasies". See on my tour it's always the same type of 30 something hipster clown who asks about speakeasies. See speakeasies were cool when they were underground clubs run by gangsters that were doing their patriotic duty to push back against the totalitarian law that was prohibition. Now they're trendy spots for faggoty white people to take selfies and talk about grad school debt while trying to imagine what it would be like to have balls. Anytime someone asks my about a speakeasy I say "I don't know of any. I know some cool dog fighting spots". They always walk away horrified. Can you imagine if Al Capone came back from the dead and went to one of these places and someone said "I'm a mixologist" and he just blew their head off and then his own? So what I was trying to say is that the corner bar was where I finally figured out who I was. I came to terms with my identity. I was a grifter. Compared to this realization my sexuality seemed like a small sliver of me. I met other people like me. People who lived on boats. People who made up stories for no reason other than to practice. People who breezed in and out of the bar, and life. These people all had this rare gift, they truly appreciated their freedom. They didn't see it as a way to one up each other. The husbands and wives of these people would storm into the bar and demand that they came home and got a job. One woman said "You've got a family to feed" to a man next to me. When she left in tears he said to me "She's extremely selfish. Let's split an order of clams". The saddest part of the conversation was when my dad and his friend began to talk about the schools their kids were admitted to. My father was talking about his stepdaughter "She's going for environmental law". I was incensed "Wait finish the story what happened to the guy who got stabbed in the neck while you were playing the Simon and Garfunkel song? " But it was no use. They just keep talking about college admissions and their friends who were sick. I saw the glint in their eyes fade. The millennium had won. We were all on the grid now. I got up to leave. A grifter always knows when it's time to move on.

[timdillontalks]

I'm in the basement of a man I don't know. This isn't what you think. I am on the road. This is comedy. We are staying with a man who sells scoreboards to high schools. He just broke up with his neighbors daughter. She left him and walked across the street. He is despondent. He isn't making facial expressions. He came to the show and sat next to me. I said "I noticed that you have Cinnamon Toast Crunch and French Toast Crunch. That's awesome". He just turned his head slowly to me and said "They're expired". He went back to looking at his hands and said "There's no milk". Then I went up and bombed for a half hour with the mic going in and out. At one point it went completely went out and I was just yelling at a room full of disinterested people. Then the guy fixed it and people looked so sad. I'm in the basement of a man who sells scoreboards to local schools. There is no milk. I'm afraid this man is going to kill me in my sleep. But I'm more afraid that he won't.

[timdillontalks]

I have a special relationship with Staten Island. When I first moved to New York I got a job selling copiers in Staten Island. The commute was 2.5 hours each way. The job was in Tottenville which is at the end of Staten Island. I took a train to a boat to a bus every morning. I had sold some mortgages in Staten Island years before I remembered the pork stores, pizzerias, and the great italian restaurants like Angelina's among many others. I remember pulling off Hylan Blvd to blow a fat line up my nose and a woman just watching me laughing. She yelled out of her car window "Party on baby!". These were good people. These were Americans. The Bushwick set likes to mock Staten Island because occasionally, unlike Bushwick, you find happiness there. Much like Long Island, Staten Island is easy to mock. Big personalities always lend themselves to caricatures. The Bushwick blog rats get much material from the lives of people who are actually alive. I also want to say I have always loved the mob. I grew up in a town that was known for some heavy hitters, and in every experience I have ever had with them, I left thinking what great people they were. When I was 8 my father was invited to the country estate of a serious guy and he told me "Just eat whatever they have. Don't complain." When the serious guy asked me if I liked burgers I said "Yeah but I really like ribs". My father laughed nervously to conceal his embarrassment. The guy stared for a minute probably putting together my father was a homosexual (whereas I just have sex with men) and then said "Get some racks of ribs from the cooler and put them on the grill" and some underling went and did it. He said to my dad "I like a man who knows what he wants and asks for it". What a great experience. RIP Big Ang and everything she represented by the way, taking care of your family, never being a rat, and being proud of your heritage. We don't live in that world anymore. And it's fitting that Ang shouldn't have to either. RIP.