Bombing is great. It might sting a little sometimes but embrace that pain because every bomb has the potential to be a learning moment. Each bomb should have you reflecting on every little detail from the set; the words chosen, their interconnectivity on a syntactic, tonal, rhythmic, textural, and silent concept and/or delivery. One’s relationship with one’s self, both onstage and in the privacy of their neighbor’s backyard on a Tuesday afternoon, while they’re away at work (and since you’re already trying to find a way to make the agonizingly slow passage of time seem less like a death sentence), you have a violent yet quiet jerk-off sesh into those entitled prick’s rose bushes. You feel alive for the first time in your life but then you suddenly gotta figure out your relationship with yourself, your neighbor’s horrified wife and children staring out of the bay window at your sickly, dejected penis. “Should I flee before the police show up and pepper spray me in the gumption? Or, just try and finish writing this joke real quick before I cum?

Step 3 = profit