Hello reader, how are you? I bet no one has ever asked you that from a thing you were reading. I am different. I’m nice. I was raised right. Mostly. You have questions: “Hey Brian Posehn, why are you writing a book?” and “Hey Brian Posehn, who the fuck are you?” Okay, maybe you should have flipped those questions. Let’s start with “Who the fuck are you?” And by the way, are you always so rude to writers? Who am I? What am I known for? You ask a lot of questions… maybe you don’t have to be a dick about it… or if you’re a lady, the lady version of a dick.
I’m a mildly successful, not so widely known stand-up comic, writer, and actor and full-blown nerd. And by full-blown nerd, I mean I’m obsessed with a bunch of cool stuff that dumb people think is uncool, like comics, Dungeons & Dragons, action and horror movies, and HEAVY FUCKING METAL. I’ve been doing stand-up most of my life. I’ve written movies, TV, comic books, and a classic underground sketch show twice. I’m mostly known for playing weirdos and half-wits in sitcoms. In my stand-up act I’m known for talking about nerdiness, heavy metal, and my penis. And my balls. I think I’ve written way more jokes about my balls than my penis. But who’s counting?
To answer your second question: Why a book? Um. Easy. Every comedian writes a book now. Comics with way less stage time than me are cobbling their stories and Twitter musings into books all over the Kindle verse—that’s a thing, right? And if you must know, I recently received a message from the President of Showbiz telling me it was actually my turn to write a book. A lot of people don’t know that the President of Showbiz is Tori Spelling. You would think it was someone with a better career or a grizzled old producer or ex-studio head who has seen everything. But nope, that’s not how showbiz works.
Anyway, “T”—I call her “T”—anyway, “T” said, “Posehn”—she calls me Posehn—she said, “Posehn, pull your giant bird-faced noggin out of your old, stretched-out butthole and write a fucking book, you stupid, sad dick-knob.” I hope that didn’t shock your delicate sensibilities. I wasn’t offended at all—it’s how “T” and I talk to each other. I said, “Fuck you, you lucky, lizard-face dullard,” and then, “Yes, I will write a book and pay one of your ex-nannies to cram it up your cob-webbed you-know-where.” She typed back, “LOL, fuck you…” That was a year ago. And now you have my first book in your hands.
The other reason I’m writing a book is I like them. Actually, I love them. I know, what a weirdo. That’s me, a fucking book-loving weirdo. I’ve always been entertained by autobiographies. I love reading about the details of a performer or artist’s life in their voice and in their own words.
And thirdly, over the years, whenever I’ve known someone well and long enough to talk about our childhoods (after five minutes if whiskey is involved), people have reacted with shock and laughs at some of the shit I’ve been through during my fifty-plus years as a metal nerd. “Yeah, I did see a ton of car accidents on my paper route when I was twelve, and maybe I did think I was the son of Satan.”
And “Yes, my sophomore year of high school was the saddest eighties movie ever. I got beaten up by a girl, a special-ed kid and a fellow nerd who used to be my friend.” Oh, and “Yep, I lost my virginity at twenty-one to a twenty-eight-year-old woman I met at a comedy open-mic in a basement bar in Old Sacramento.” Yep. Old Sac. Again, with the balls.
Plus, if you’re actually reading this, you at least like books enough to be checking out a book from “that guy” from “that show” or “that thing.” At the very least, you’re in a struggling Barnes and Noble perusing my book on the new nonfiction shelf. Now, put my book back and go use the shitter because we both know that is why you’re really here. Back to my deflowering story—we did it in my shitty apartment because she still lived with her ex-husband. Oh yeah, ex-husband.
More about him in Chapter 17 or 18. Anyway, that’s how the night ended. It started in the comedy club, but it really got started in the parking lot of a cop bar downtown an hour later. You always remember your first time, especially when your first time is with a divorced rocker chick who, while we were making out against a car, she yelled at a homeless guy to “Get the fuck away from us, dude!” Or is it “divorced rocker chick whom”? Either way, super classy. Not sure why I didn’t marry her in Reno that night. My wife has heard some of these stories multiple times. Actually, that last story had some details missing when I told my wife. Those details will be revealed later, and I’ll tell you a secret: it rhymes with premature ejaculation.
This is not my life story. It’s more like just a bunch of stories from my life. There is a difference. You’ll hear (or read with your eye-ears) about when I discovered I was a nerd and how a lot of my fellow students reminded me of that fact. That’s a big part of the book because it’s a big part of my life. Before people said, “I identify as something or another,” I identified myself as a nerd. Back when that wasn’t a word you saw on T-shirts that said, “I HEART Nerds” or before nerd culture exploded beyond Comic-Con and became pop culture.
I will walk you through all my nerdy obsessions from over the years, and I’ll explain why I became comfortable with that label. Sort of. You’ll hear about my multiple therapists and self-prescribed medication. You’ll also read how a self-hating nerd who suffered with depression was able to become successful at my dream job, TV, movies, comic books, music, and comedy, and get my dream girl to fall in love with me despite myself. You’ll also, also read how even with the love of my beautiful wife and son, thousands of fans, and hundreds of dollars, I still don’t feel like I quite fit in and why I’ll be FOREVER NERDY.
