This CD is hysterical. Some can make that claim, but this one delivers. Dobie talks 50 miles an hour with gusts up to 75. Keep up. This is a power packed hour of rants and stories that will keep you chuckling for weeks. Listen in your car with WARNING - You won't be able to stay on the road!
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DOBIE MAXWELL
'Mr. Lucky'
Comedian
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F - ew comedians working today have the experience of DOBIE MAXWELL. He has been working since 1985 and has appeared in all 48 lower United States and all across Canada. He has worked most major clubs, and has shared a stage with some of the top comics in the country including Jay Leno, Jerry Seinfeld, Drew Carey, Rosie O'Donnell, Tim Allen, George Carlin and many others.
U - nique is the best way to describe DOBIE MAXWELL. His life and comedy are not like most others. Milwaukee is the city where both Harley Davidson motorcycles and Dobie were born. Dobie's parents rode with a biker gang there and abandoned him as a baby. He was raised by his paternal grandparents, and it was his Grandfather who gave him his now famous nickname of 'Mr. Lucky'.
N - obody has the timing of DOBIE MAXWELL. He always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's very funny...if you're not HIM. He sums it up best. 'When I was nine I went to see the Harlem Globetrotters. They lost.' One situation after another make for big laughs.
N - ever at a loss for words, DOBIE MAXWELL packs a wallop in his comedy show. He speaks in gusts, prowls the stage, and combines emotions and opinions to his amazing stories. Many fans come to see him over and over again because with his many experiences he never does exactly the same show twice.
Y - ou can experience DOBIE MAXWELL 'Mr. Lucky' yourself. He is available for standup comedy bookings, but he also teaches humor workshops and comedy classes across America in addition to doing motivational speeches for corporations. Check out his website at www.dobie.com. or call for info at 847-622-4323.
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"MISTER LUCKY"
I think my grandfather said it best. "If it was raining whores, YOU would get hit in the head with a queer."
Gramps had a knack for summing up a situation in just a few words. I didn't realize how funny those words were at the time he said them because I was preoccupied with the lump that was forming on my forehead after a fresh white baseball had just hit it dead on. It was yet another fluke of the universe that would come to define who I was then and am still to this day.
Mr. Lucky had struck again. That's me, Dobie Maxwell, a.k.a. Mr. Lucky. Gramps gave me a lesson in Sarcasm 101. He pulled no punches, and neither will I. He was not always politically correct, but he did tell the truth. The stories I'm about to tell you are all true.
Once is an accident, twice is a trend. This was building into an amazing streak, and not one to be proud of. I had started out on the wrong side of life from birth, and it continued.
As a child I had been born to biker parents, abandoned at five months old, gone to live with my grandparents, almost died of pneumonia at age three, and been stung by a hornet on my weenie at age five when I was relieving myself in the back yard after eating a big piece of watermelon. I was too lazy to walk to the house and then was humiliated as my grandmother walked me around the block to a nurse who lived in the neighborhood, only to have all the neighborhood ladies see me in my pained condition with my five year old stung bleeding weenie hanging out of my pants for all to see. It was bleeding because I had tried to zip up my shorts when the hornet landed, and 'it' got caught in the zipper and tore a chunk of flesh out of it that has left a scar to this day. That's enough torture, right?
You'd think so, but not for me. It was a few years later in the same backyard when Gramps uttered his now famous quote. This time in pain, I'd made my way to the house.
Gramps just shook his head in disbelief. I must have been about nine, but I heard what he was saying loud and clear. I couldn't believe it myself. I stood in the back yard crying as he examined my aching head. I had just taken a foul ball full force to the front of the skull and had a huge lump growing above my right eye that's still there to this day.
To add insult to injury, the foul ball was off my own bat. Could it be any worse? Sure. There was nobody pitching. I did it all by myself. I tossed my first hardball up in the air, took a mighty swing with my first bat, and almost knocked myself into my first coma.
Could it be any worse? Absolutely. The next door neighbors were in their back yard having a cookout at the time, and they all saw me do it and started laughing hysterically. Now, what are the chances of all that happening? MY chances. This is how my life goes. Insult? Meet injury. You'll be spending a lot of time together. Mr. Lucky? Meet life.
Call it what you want. Luck. Fate. Fortune. Karma. Kismet. Chance. Happenstance. Destiny. Stuff like that just happens to me, and it always has. In my world, every day is Friday the 13th. Strange is normal, and normal is strange. I wouldn't have believed any of this had I not lived it, but I did. Now it's time to bring you along for the ride too. I don't want to sound like a pessimist because I'm not. I'm an optimist with realist views. I believe the glass is half full, but I'm a realist enough to know that it will be knocked over by a freakish accident in which I have no control, and I'll end up paying for the broken glass.
Everyone has to deal with luck, and sometimes it takes different forms. There's good luck, bad luck, beginner's luck, lady luck, luck of the Irish, and good old dumb luck. I think I'm in my own category. 'Dobie's Luck', something which hasn't happened before. I can't tell you how many times I've heard "Well, I've never seen THAT happen before." How many guys do you know with a stung weenie or were born to biker parents or had a foul ball whack them in the coconut in front of a yard full of people? See what I mean?
Mostly, I'm just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I had a buck for every time I heard that, I'd have a lot of money. But knowing my luck, I'd probably have to use it to pay some big fine for an obscure 100 year old local law that I accidentally broke. How was I supposed to know it wasn't legal to wear socks in Kalamazoo in September?
With lawyer's fees, court costs and lunch, I would be in the hole. Then, to make it worse, I'd get a rip-roaring case of botulism from lunch because someone on his first day of work left the mayonnaise out too long. On top of that, I'd get a parking ticket in the courthouse lot and someone would have broken my window and stolen my wallet I accidentally left in the pocket of the sport coat I borrowed from a friend and now have to buy him a new one but can't because my credit cards were stolen with the wallet.
Then the cop would come and say to me "Wow, there's some luck. I've never seen anything like that before. Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." Then it would start all over again. This is my typical cycle of life.
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'How A Redneck Left Me Red Faced'
by Dobie Maxwell 'Mr. Lucky'
dobie@befunny.com
I have the worst luck of anyone I know. My name is Dobie Maxwell but everyone knows me as 'Mr. Lucky'. My grandfather gave me that name, and told me as a kid 'If it was raining whores, YOU would get hit in the head with a queer.' I never forgot that, and it has been a constant theme in my life. I never used it in my act until recently, and when it did my career began to take off.
It seems people enjoy hearing stories about people with more troubles than their own, and I have plenty to tell. This is a story of how I missed a golden opportunity that was right in front of my face. Not only did I miss it, I made fun of it when it happened. Just my luck.
I have been a comedian since 1984. I have worked with many other comedians, some of whom have made the big time. This is a story of how I learned what the American public buys, and it's a lesson I won't soon forget. Remember, I was a 22 year old punk when this happened, with visions of pie in the sky. I've learned a lot since then. I hope.
One week in the '80s I was working in Detroit as an opening act. The club was called Chaplin's, and had a nice Italian restaurant and a bowling center attached to it. It was an entertainment complex, complete with valet parking. Crowds came to bowl, eat, drink and see comedy.
The headliner on the show was a very nice fellow who took a liking to me right away. The feeling was mutual. We were both big sports fans, and just seemed to hit it off. He liked my act and I liked his. We even bowled together after the show one night. He asked me to join him the next day for lunch, as he had a concept that he thought would make him a million dollars. I have always been interested in making a million dollars, so I agreed to join him. Not only that, he said he'd buy.
The next day we both got in my 1966 Chevelle and headed over to a local burger establishment. As I ate my free hamburger (a most welcome event for an opening act on a budget) the headliner brought out some 3x5 cards and a blue spiral notebook scribbled with notes. He finished his lunch and then began to clue me in on his million dollar idea.
"Ok, here's my plan. I have an idea for a test for the audience. I'll say 'You might be a redneck if...' and then I'll do jokes." He proceeded to read some of the jokes, which were ok but not great in my opinion. I sat there thoroughly unimpressed as he went through his whole sales pitch.
"And how did you arrive at this brilliant idea?" I said mockingly.
"Well, any bowling alley that would have valet parking proves to me that rednecks aren't just something you see in the south. They're everywhere." he said. "What do you think of the idea?"
"Buddy," I said, trying to console him "that is an idea right out of Mad magazine. I read that kind of stuff when I was 12. If you can sell THAT to the American public you should get a pink Cadillac from Mary Kay. Good luck, you'll need it." I felt really bad after that, thinking I ripped this poor sap out of a free hamburger and offered to pay for my own lunch. He declined.
"I really think I have a winner of an idea here." he said.
"Well, so did Henry Ford with the Edsel." I countered, trying to make him prepared for the disappointment he was sure to feel. How could such a nice guy with a funny act think that moronic concept would catch on? I thought he was MUCH more clever and funny than that.
Several years later, I was working as a morning DJ in Reno when Jeff Foxworthy came to town and sold out about 10,000 seats at $35 a head at the Reno Hilton outdoor theatre. I got backstage with my press pass and went up to him. "Hey Jeff, do you remember me?" Did he ever.
"Yeah, you're the guy that told me I'd never make it." And we laughed about it. As I remember it, he laughed MUCH harder than I did.
"You know, you weren't the only one who told me I'd never make it, but you were the one who got in my face the most. I'll never forget how you did that." he said.
"Yeah, but I beat you out of a free hamburger." I snarled. He won, and we both knew it. I learned my lesson well, and was happy for his success.
Jeff Foxworthy was then and is now a class act. He is a great guy and very down to earth. If I had to be shown up by anyone I'm glad it was him. The moral of this story is not to laugh at someone's goofy idea, especially when you don't have experience and vision. I learned my lesson well, but it sure was painful at the time.
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