What, is, your, dilemma?

You had a fake poopy mustache.

What was I supposed to do?

You were dressed up as
a Dirty Sanchez for Halloween,
and you had a fake poopy mustache
made out of chocolate.

And then,
when I said I needed
to find a store nearby,
to adhere my own
mustache to my face, properly,
you gave me a ride on your Vespa.

And I know,
it wasn't a Vespa,
it was called something else,
but it was one of those little
motorcycle scooter things
and it made me feel Italian.

I have never been on a motorcycle,
my mom told me they're dangerous,
when I was young enough to listen,
and I believed her.

So here is you,
this incredible attractive
girl who told me point blank
that you liked me.

And here is me,
a schmuck on the back
of a Vespa holding onto
an incredibly attractive girl
with a fake poopy mustache.

Have you met me?

Have you ever heard what I sing about,
sometimes?

Of course I was taken by you.

You're unbelievable.

And I had to kiss you,
I just had to.

You had a fucking
poopy mustache made
of chocolate.

hilarious.

now my fake
mustache smells like chocolate.

And I've been on a Vespa,
that's not really a Vespa.

And my mouth is much
smaller than yours,
I kinda have a little girl's
mouth, but you're one hell
of a kisser, and I'm sure we
could have figured it out.

But when you dropped me off
at Pauly's party,
I kept going,
and didn't look back.

I just had to dance.

Actually,
I pranced around
really awkward,
cause you kind of make
me nervous,
but eventually,

I just had to dance.

So I'm sorry
I didn't call you back
a long time ago,
and I'm sorry
I couldn't go cuddle
up to you and warm
up after freezing my
little girl's mouth off
on your Vespa.

But my life is really
complicated,
so I did all that I could,
and I hope it was cool.

Because now my fake mustache,
will always smell like your
fake mustache.

I'm glad it was chocolate,
and not real poop.

-p

Music

Let's talk about awesome bands for a second.

Here is one I saw last night,
and they fucking blew my mind.

I met them playing a show with
them in Philadelphia.

Besides seeing my friend, Annie,
they were the only good thing
about Philadelphia.

Always sunny my ass.

Anyhow.

They are called Twilight Hotel.
They're from Canada,
and if you ever can see them live,
(they tour all the time)
do it.

Trust me.

Please.

www.twilighthotel.ca

note the "ca"
at the end.

fucking canadians.

And then!!

for Ethan, especially.

and Mark, if you ever read this.

check out these fucking guys:

www.myspace.com/theunstoppablenuklehidz

they are the unstoppable nuklehidz,
and I spelled their name wrong last time.
can you blame me?

crazy spelling,
awesome fucking rap group.

I'm serious.

trust,
and enjoy.

-p

Pity

I ran into my Irish friend, Eoghan
last night at a bar in downtown Chicago.

He told me my blog has too much self pity.

It made me feel bad,
and now I pity myself.

Just kidding.

I feel great.

I spent the weekend
in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin.

I think that's how you spell it.

I was doing stand up comedy
at a resort.

They put me up in an awesome hotel room,
two free dinners, two free breakfasts that
I slept through, and lots and lot of free drinks.

There were two shows,
Friday and Saturday.

I went first on Friday,
as the "feature" act.

Features do twenty five minutes,
after the MC guy,
and before the headliner.

The headliner was a very funny dude
named Nate Craig.

Very funny.

But he made the unfortunate
mistake of laying into a heckler
really hard, who happened to be
close personal friends with the owner.

He called her a selfish, drunk, bitch.

ouch.

so, the second night,
they asked me to headline.

I was flattered,
but very uncomfortable.

Comics don't like me,
and this wasn't going to help.

Nate Craig was cool about it, though.
I wasn't funnier than he was,
I just didn't call the owner's friend a drunk whore bitch.

So, the second night,
I was watching the crowd come in,
and I watched them seat
four senior citizens,
in the front row.

The very, front, row.

oh....boy,
they're gonna love me.

The one guy was eighty two,
and he had,
not only hearing aids,
but two plastic bubbles
strapped to his head
to block out the backround noise.

holy shit, dude.

who the hell put you right up front?

And what is that around your neck?
Yeah.. that big wooden thing,
the size of my palm?

Oh...
shit.

That's a crucifix.

Not just a cross,
this one has a little Jesus doll on it.

sweet.

This is my demographic.

Nate Craig went first,
and he was going along,
and he said one thing about
hearing contraptions,
it was pretty funny,
and the old guy started scowling.

Now..
in a stand up show,
the lights are so bright
on the stage that you can really
only see the front two rows.

The whole front row on the one
side was just glowering at him.

Not cool.

the whole rest of the crowd
was having a great time,
laughing, shouting,
yee haw.

Why did they seat them up front?

That's just ridiculous.

I was up.

This is going to rule.

I plugged in,
smiled at the crowd,
waited...

waited....

and just turned to the old people
and said, "you guys are going to really hate this"

ha haha

No,
seriously,
I'm warning you now
that this is not going to
get any more enjoyable for you,
and I'm not going to ask you to leave,
or move, but...

you should probably leave or move.

They didn't.

They just frowned.

And I was having no part of it.

I fucked with them,
gently,
friendly-like,
nothing offensive.

I played Smoke that Weed,
and asked them if they had any.

I played Tru Gangster
and gave them a close up guitar solo.

But...
I think it was when I said, "Amen"
after STD Test, that they finally had enough.

They got up and left.

And I said, "oh.....no.... where are you guys going?"

I thought it was hilarious.

I think the rest of the crowd did too.

If you're eighty,
and you wear a crucifix,
and little plastic hearing bubbles,
do not sit in the front row at
a modern stand up comedy show.

It's just not a good idea.

You probably shouldn't be reading this, either.

-p

Fork

I have come to a split decision in my life.

Do I stay here, in Chicago,
and keep touring,
and build things organically?

Or do I move to New York,
In January,
and try to aim for some
bigger exposure?

I've been mulling this over
for years.

And now,
I have to decide.

well, not now,
but soon.

I like New York,
and I hate New York.

It's big and mean and dirty,
but it's the fucking coolest
place in the world.

David Cross seems to like it,
why wouldn't I?

and I could sell my car to my dad,
maybe...

hey, dad...
would you want to
buy my car if I move to NY?

It's a stick shift!

I need your help,
add a comment,
share your views.

I'm doing okay out on the road,
and I think that's where I belong.

I could just keep touring
and playing and getting
better at promoting,
and maybe something will happen.

Or,
I could aim for the big time.

-p

The Marijuana Music Awards

Somethings,
you just have to do.

Especially if people
are counting on you,
supporting you,
in your effort to
live a crazy life
and tell fun stories about it.

So,
when I was asked to
go perform at the Marijuana
Music Awards,
I knew I had to.

Even if I didn't want to,
if I knew it might be a bust,
I still had to go.

and so I did.

and so it was.

a bust.

but not entirely.

As far as fun,
crazy, interesting
experience for the purpose
of telling fun stories,
it was a roaring success.

Where do I begin?

well,
I had to leave for my flight at 5 am.

I stayed up,
with a lady,
until three.

When my alarm went
off at four am,
I was naked in a warm
bed with a warm naked lady.

I hit snooze until five.

shit.

It's five!

I rushed around,
and made it out to the car
by five forty five,
plus forty five minutes
to drive, plus parking,
plus, walking, check in,
for a seven am flight.

A connecting flight,
one-stop.

I missed it,
but caught stand by
on a direct flight,
that got me to NY City
an hour ahead of schedule.

So far,
not a bad start.

I landed in NY,
took a bus,
three trains,
and a short walk,
to the biggest outdoor
venue I've seen in a long time.

The Beastie Boys played there
last summer, just to give you an idea.

There were...
maybe fifty people there.

And one of them was a midget.

A real, midget.

The concert was supposed to
start at noon, and go until seven thirty.

I showed up at twelve thirty,
and the sound system was not
yet set up.

You must keep in mind,
this is a concert organized,
and run, by pot heads.

And....
the bands were all pot heads.

You can see a little
sloppiness in the picture, no?

I have never seen a sound system
get set up so slowly,
by three thirty,
there were still mics
just sitting on the side of the stage.

God,
there is almost too much to tell you.

I'll fast forward.

I met two rappers from Baltimore,
real black guys,
and they were my friends all day.

They smoked me out with a blunt.

I smoked a blunt,
in Brooklyn,
with two rappers,
real ones.

They were great,
they're called the Unstopable Knuckleheads.

I took them out for lunch,
the best fucking potatoes
I have ever tasted.

We started drinking.

We kept drinking,
the show was still not starting.

Seventy five pot heads
roaming around in a concert
venue that can hold 6,000 people.

Jamaicans, Haitians,
dudes from Memphis,
rappers, little sexy stoner girls,
a funk band with an old black dude on bass.

"that's Mr. Wendell..."
(joked pete to the rapper)

"nah.. man, that's James Brown's
bass player...."
(joked the rapper back to pete)

ha ha ha

Turns out,
it was James Brown's
bass player.

He's a pot head, too.

There were a lot of great bands,
and we all got to play.. maybe two songs.

We travelled from all over the country,
just to come to a marijuana music awards
show that we knew nothing about.

We were all cut from that same
sort of cloth, we are driven
to live on a whim, and we had
to take this chance.

Needless to say,
it was a blast.

A very bizarre,
silly, drunken, blast
where everyone was high,
and easy going.

And even when everything
was completely fucked up,
nobody cared or complained.

I rocked out one song,
and I gave it all I had.

I pulled out every trick
I knew in four minutes,
and soon enough,
I was playing the bridge
of the bush song with some
dude from Memphis on drums,
and a guy dressed as an alien
ripping a guitar solo.

funny.

I was cracked out
on coffee, no sleep,
lot's of sex, pot, and czech beer.

But I was happy as a clam.

Me and my rapper buddies
explored the park, told jokes,
met adorable girls on bicycles,
and everything was great.

And every so often,
as I was accepting the situation,
and thinking, "well.. this isn't so weird"

I would look around,
and see the midget.

rocking out with a
Haitian dude in dred locks.

----

I had to stay up all day and night
until my flight at six am.

Another connecting flight.
One stop in Philadelphia.

I found a bar,
at midnight,
and stayed until four.

I made friends with
the owners,
and they host live music.

So I'm gonna play there
the next time I'm in NY.

When I stumbled into the airport
after a ridiculously long, long, day,
my connecting flight was delayed.

and
I caught standby on a direct.

-p

What are you thinking?

Sometimes
you have to
grab an opportunity
by its balls and squeeze.

No matter how dumb
of an idea it is.

I just got off tour.

I'm tired.

I'm hungry,
I haven't been
sleeping enough,
and I've been drinking
too much, and way too much
coffee.

and pot.

just enough of that.

Tonight,
at five am,
I'm heading to the airport.

To fly to New York City,
play in the American
Marijuana Music Awards show,
outdoors, three sets of two songs
in between some of the acts.

I land at noon,
play from 3 to 9,
party until 3 am,
and then get back
on a plane for chicago.

easy.

breezy

stupid.

fun.

I'll tell you
all about it
when I get back home.

-p

Tour Diary Part End

Well.

That's it.

That was the tour.

I should have told you more stories,
I told you about the goats, right?

Well,
did I tell you about
the girl who came up
to me and within five minute
was talking about some guy
wanting to lick her ass?

He was in a band, too.

wow.

Did I tell you
about waking up
every morning
and going, "ugh.... where am I, what time is it?"

Oh, yeah, it's two in the afternoon,
and I'm in Iowa.

It was fun,
the shows were fun,
all wacky and different,
but I think people liked them.

It's been a long couple of weeks
since that first subway sandwich
in DeKalb.

I'm rich, for now.

But it's all spoken for.

I owe money all over town.

I decided to go for it,
the AMMAs.

The American Marijuana Music Awards.

I'm flying to New York
on Saturday, to play
songs about weed.

I might even win a trophy.

I have no idea what that's
going to be like, but you only
live once, no?

-p

Tour Diary Section Twelve

Hi.

Do you want to see
some awesome footage
from the show in Neenah,
with Don?

Of course you do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dczT_MrZfko

-p

Dear Tour Diary

WHY IS IT SO BEAUTIFUL OUTSIDE?

why is my caps lock down?

Why is this bong
so perfect and this
rain so soft and this
night so great and this
water so cold and delicious?

Oh, yeah.

Because life is awesome,
and I'm stoned out of my head.

If you get
the chance to
stay at someone's
house for no reason,
do it.

Have more sleepovers,
it's fun.

Sleep on somebody's couch,
and wake up,
and love it
because your life
is free and you can
wake up on a different soft spot.

Like you used to.

And smoke a little more pot.

Like you used to?

no,
just a little more.

don't be stupid about it,
but shit, it's really fun.

Do it with someone cool,
and then draw,
or color, or read,
or swim or just sit
down and listen to the rain.

Life moves too fast,
and people talk too much.

And if you get a feeling
inside that begs you
to break up with her.

listen.

I guess.

Love is so great,
but it's also so easy.

As long as you can love,
you can be loved.

Loads of people
looking for it these days.

And stop smoking cigarettes.

Or keep doing it,
whatever.

Maybe smoke a few less.

eh?

And have more sex.

but with less people.

And eat better chocolate.

And drink more expensive wine.
but free water.

And good beer,
for christ's sake.

thanks for the advice.

-p

you're welcome.

-p

Tour Diary Part Whatever

Holy Shit.

I am hung over.

Drinking a bloody mary
and a cup of coffee poured
over ice at Mc Goff's in Mankato, MN.

Last night,
I got a bit
out of control.

Just a bit.

No, a lot,
I got a lot out of control.

It was a fun show,
and,
jesus,
I can barely even think
straight enough to write
these words.

My head is swimming,
hung over from pot and alcohol,
and some sort of terrible shot
called the Diamond Cutter.

I stayed with some nice folks
who thought it would be a good idea
to get me all wasted and then take
me to the goat pen in the park.

That's right,
the goat pen.

Needless to say,
I climbed into the goat pen,
wasted, and hung out with some goats.

Like.... seven goats,
in a very confined space.

It was awesome.

I ended up climbing on top
of their little goat-playground
and doing a dance, and I think
I made a phone call.

Turns out,
if I had been seen
by the police,
I'd still be in jail right now.

Good thing I wasn't.

I wish they had told
me that when I started to
climb into the goat pen.

"hey...pete,
if the cops see you,
you'll get arrested."

I probably wouldn't have listened, anyway.

But it would have been nice to know.

I've gotta stop now,
my head hurts,
but it was fun,
and the goats were fun,
and now I'm going up to Minneapolis.

bye.

I'll write later
when I can see.

-p

Tour Diary Part 10

Don.

You were hilarious.

You were wasted.

You told me I reminded
you of your brother, the preacher.

Let me explain.

Don was at Cranky Pat's
in Neenah, WI last night.

A very fun show.
A very, very weird show, 314 franklin.
but fun.

Don was wasted and yelling
at the very beginning of the show.

Like,

"hi guys, I'm Nice Peter,
and I'm from Chicago,
and I'm gonna get started
in a couple of minutes"

Don: "yeah.... do it... yeah, rock and guitar,
play that thing.... allright!"

Wow.

This should be interesting.

I introduced myself
to Don right away,
although I thought
he said his name was John.

Later in the show,
I brought him up to play
the tambourine on White Trash Woman.

It's a classic Nice Peter show gimmick,
get the drunk guy to play tambourine,
on a song called White Trash Woman.

I love it.

so...
when I shot him the tambourine solo,
he starts singing.

About absolute nonsense,
it was fucking hilarious.

He said something about
taking your Kentucky Fried
Chicken out of my garbage can,
and I ran with that.

That was the new song now,
and then he said,
"play the straight blues, man"

You got it, Don.

so we played a twenty minute
blues song about some woman
taking her chicken out of my garbage.

That's how it goes sometimes.
It's not a show so much
as a controlled explosion.

At least, I try to keep it under control.

Sometimes it runs away.

When I start shows these days,
it feels a little like starting a road trip,
with no map, and no destination,
but I know that I'm going to end
it with I Quit, You Fat Mother Fucker.

It's like,
"okay... you guys ready?
got everything... water, beer, guitar, microphone?"

Here we go.

Then I play some songs,
and tell some stories,
and weird shit happens,
because I open it up,
there aren't really any rules.
Whatever happens, happens,
and I'll try my best to make
it funny and keep it making sense.

But,
when you get a guy
like Don up on stage,
first of all... it's almost impossible
to follow.

Where can I go after
a song about chicken
with a hilarious drunk guy
rocking out on the tambourine?

I tell you where I go,
I take a break and go for a walk.

In the second set,
Don did what I knew he would do.

He came back.

This time he carried
his friend up onstage
and sat him down.

His friend was of a diminutive stature,
and I instantly knew that he couldn't quite walk.

Not, too drunk to walk,
but, this guy has trouble walking.

What do I do with that?

He was plopped on the stage
and handed a microphone,
by Don, and he sat there like
a muppet, and drunk muppet.

It was pretty awkward for me.

I don't like to make fun
of anyone with some sort
of physical handicap,
not since the bald guy
in Appleton incident.

So, I did my best.

I played Red Line Train,
and the little man,
who called himself Dangerous Denny,
muttered some nonsense into the microphone.

The stroke of brilliance
came at the end.

I was doing my usual
bit of drawing out the end
of Red Line Train...

"and we're riding... on..... the...... Red .......... Line..........."

and Denny, without missing a beat,
says "Train...." into the mic in a super low voice.

It was the best thing ever.

So,
in conclusion,
even thought situations
like Don and Denny make
me a little uncomfortable,
they are also the little
gems that make all the show different,
and makes it fun and spontaneous
and makes people remember.

It's always funny to me,
I work really hard on these stupid songs,
believe it or not,
and sometimes all people
can talk about is the drunk
guy who sang about chicken.

in my garbage.

-p

Tour Diary Part 9

Dude.

I'm a rebel.

I steal.

The internet.

That's my new hobby,
driving around with my laptop
open until I can gank some free
wireless connection.

I'm crouched outside of a coffee
shop in Madison, WI.

Great show last night,
at least for me, it was fun.

The audience was really
listening, and picking up
on the new stuff, so I played
them a lot of new songs.

I can't think so clear today,
I had a bit of a long crazy one
last night.

You wanna hear something crazy?
I'm nominated for the American
Marijuana Music Awards.

I might win a trophy for singing about weed.

and they want me to play at their
concert in NY City on October 13.

How can I say no?

I've gotten some cool response
from the Gallon of Gas Donation,
so I'm putting it here again.

If you wanna join the fun,
feel free to buy one or two
or thirty gallons of gas for
the Nice Peter mobile.

If you add a request
for a custom song
in your gallon of gas donation,
I'll write one for you,
no sweat.