Patrick Swayze was right.

Like most comedians, I'm a recovering addict. My drug of choice? CFC. Common f**king courtesy. And pot. But mostly, good manners.

My biggest mission when I leave the house is to not bother anyone. My biggest mistake is expecting the same from other people.

And as a friend in AA* once told me: "An expectation is a resentment in the waiting."

I wonder if a support group exists for the overly-polite. Enable me for a moment...

Hello everyone, my name is Mario and...I'm a nice guy.

It's been 7 days since my last act of kindness. I hit bottom, too...I was holding doors open for strangers, using my blinkers in traffic and, at my lowest point, I found myself in bed with a woman and I...I let her finish first. I know, how cliche...nice guy finishing last.

I should've seen it coming, too. Growing up, my dad was warm and generous. Mom was loving and thoughtful. All the warning signs were there, man.

But I'm proud to announce that for the past week I've been leaving my cell phone ringer on at funerals; reading lots of Maxim magazine; putting the toilet lid down...before I pee; when I see a woman standing, I offer her my lap...

And the last time I held the door open for someone, I tripped them in the process.

So where's my chip? I wanna put it on my shoulder.


What truly sucks about being a pleasant fellow is how people see it as a weakness. Girls, especially.

Part of the phrase, "nice guy" is "guy." We still have the same urges, we're just not all Dane Cook-y about it.

Once, I overheard a woman bellowing how "All men are scum." To which her friend replied, "What about so-and-so? He's a nice guy." Without hesitation, the other snorted: "Pfft. Nice guys are boring."

Hang on, now, Acrylic Nails...all men are scum, but nice guys are boring??

This is like walking into a flower shop, only touching the cactus, then complaining how all plants are pointy assholes.

Look around you! There are ferns! Succulents! Super Happy Lucky bamboo! Nothing flashy, perhaps, but reliable and low-maintenance. Take one home and talk nice to it.


Because I am a decent human being off stage, I tend to be a bit of a prick on stage, and on the page. It's fantasy therapy. Man's gotta vent, yo.

But I think I've found my new mantra to echo, courtesy of one James Dalton in Road House: "Be nice. Until it's time to not be nice."

Ditto, sir. Ditto.

Like a welcome mat over a trap door.

So take heed, time you're sending a text at a red light and ignore my warning honk when it turns green, I'm gonna have to rip your throat out with my bare hands.


*The insecure mofo in me needs to clear up that I am not an actual recovering addict, and I sincerely hope no members of AA think ill of the references.