Tag Archives: Mark Allen Berryhill

Excerpts Taken from a Moleskine Journal Found on the Putrefied Corpse of Comedian Andy Spando By Mark Allen Berryhill

May 11th, 2014

The strangest thing happened today. I decided to perform another one of my impromptu sets for my fiance today. She wasn’t doing anything except for watching something boring on Netflix so I grabbed my mike, plugged into my home PA, cranked it to 11 (just joshing, it only goes up to 10) and stood in front of the television while I gifted her with comedy.

Just when I got to the punch line of one my favorite bits, you know the one where I end with “And get back to the kitchen! (Just kidding, I love women, I really do.)” She set the tv remote down and marched out of the room. I know what you’re thinking, how rude, I hadn’t even gotten to the end where I leave her feeling inspired with a positive message!

So she locks herself in the bedroom, puts My Last Resort on repeat and turns the volume up as loud as it can go–which is pretty loud. I politely knocked on the door, asking her if I was being too edgy, and apologized for offending her with my roguish wit. I listened really hard, and for awhile she was making a sound I could barely hear over that really great song. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, or laughing, or singing along. I got bored though and watched Space Ghost Coast to Coast on VHS until I fell asleep.

May 12th, 2014

She’s still in there, and the music is still playing. While Papa Roach is no Sentuamessage, I still love that song, you can only sing along so many times before even that gets boring. I’ve decided to give her some space. She’ll have to come out eventually to pee. She was always excusing herself to go to the bathroom as soon as I got to the best part of whatever story I was telling. It seems that every girlfriend I’ve ever had has either had IBS or the tiniest bladder. The world is a strange place.

May 13th, 2014

For once I am glad that all of the people in the adjoining apartments moved out soon after I moved in. It’s always been nice having most of this building to ourselves. I’m worried about my Facebook friends. My Macbook Air is in there with her, and so is my NES. This is the longest I’ve been away from FB since I joined. They’re probably missing me.

May 14th, 2014

I broke the TV. I tried practicing my set, but I really need an audience to bounce my ideas off of. My reflection in the television wasn’t clear enough to get that energy I need so I removed the mirror from the bathroom and tried to hang it on the television. The whole thing tipped over and broke and there’s no one to clean it up. I’ve stepped in glass twice so far today. I wish she’d get over her little episode.

 

May 15th, 2014

Okay, this is officially the longest she’s ever locked herself in the bedroom. I keep the mini fridge in there stocked with Pabst, but she must be getting hungry. Thankfully I’ve been able to eat at the Applebee’s down the street to keep up my strength. But she hasn’t come out. I put scotch tape on the door the first night this started, and she hasn’t broken the seal once. I would really like to get in there to play TMNT. I’m getting so bored.

May 16th, 2014

This boredom is killing me. I tried three times to pleasure myself, but without her here to watch me I can’t seem to, ahem, “achieve climax.” The glass in my foot is really irritating; I’ll try meditation to transcend the pain.

I can’t seem to reach nothingness alone either. I’m not sure what I’m going to do.

May 18th, 2014

This place is a mess. And there’s this awful smell coming from somewhere. There’s probably trash in the bedroom that needs to be changed. I bet she doesn’t even notice. They call that old factory fatigue because old factories used to smell really bad but you got used to it after awhile.

May 21st, 2014

I had a break down today. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried. Real men cry, you know. I violated her space by pounding on the door. I begged her to please come out. What am I going to do? I’m so hungry now and my foot hurts so much.

“Please, please come out,” I said. “One hundred thousand dollars a year doesn’t last very long in the big city and I need someone to cook for me!”

She is being such a bitch. Oh god, I didn’t mean it. Why did I write that in pen?

May 26th, 2014

The power went out, and it’s really starting to get hot in here. It’s funny that I actually miss the music now. Don’t get me started on the flies. My leg is so big and purple and powerful now, it’s the best leg I’ve ever seen.

May 27th, 2014

I had a dream last night that I saw her again. In my dream she begged me to forgive her. I do, I do forgive you for doing this to me. You can come out now.

May 28th, 2014

I almost understand what she was trying to tell me about me by choosing that song.

Cut my life into pieces – because there’s enough of me to go around.

This is my last resort – because I can’t wait forever for you to get me

Suffocation, no breathing – just like how I used to hold my breath to get what I wanted from her

Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding – ????

May 29th, 2014

I started naming the maggots after my heroes. They crawl around inside of me. They are my friends now. Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce. I accidentally squished little Dane Cook–I never meant to ignore you. Sam Kinnison made a little home under my big toe–hey there little guy! Jeff Dunham pupated and turned into a beautiful fly now, he went into my ear and never came out. He’ll never leave me. They’ll never ever leave me. Not like she did, not like she did.

May 31th, 21014

I can’t tell if I’m awak or dream. She nose. I pee futon. I crump… So funny now so funny now this is all a joke

Joan Bth , 2202

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June 3rd, 2014?

I’m actually feeling a lot better now. My leg has kind of become one with the futon, like all humanity is really one with each other and the cosmos, but I bet I could hobble out the door, down three flights of stairs, and into the Applebee’s for help. This plan is so crazy it might just work.

Jun 7th, 2014

My foot came off when I tried to leave.

<The last entry isn’t dated or written in pen, it is a crudely drawn picture depicting a bearded man on a box, rendered in feces. Overlaying the drawing, written in dried blood are the words, “U Welcum.”>

Mark Allen Berryhill is a terrible person who would spit on you as soon as look at you. He spends his days shepherding volunteers around the Springfield Botanical Center, where he grows vegetables, fruits, and ornamental grasses for the community. He has a wife, two turtles and a frog. You can be his friend at https://www.facebook.com/kingmab/