Stand Up on Traffic School

Here's a transcript of a comedy bit on traffic I used to do here in the Los Angeles area.

So, kick back, relax, and pretend you're enjoying a nine dollar Corona.

It'll be like you're at the Improv.

A very cheap, poorly lit, very quiet Improv.

Like when Pauly Shore's there.

Traffic School

Any of you guys ever been to traffic school? Anybody? Yeah? You have? What...How many times? Six? Really? Jesus, dude. What are you, on the frequent flyer miles or something? That's nuts, man. I think after three times, they should just give you a horse and that's it. You're finished. "Nope. Uh-uh. On your way, Mr. Ed." Jeez. Six times. You're a f---n' menace. You the designated driver? Hey. You the designated driver tonight? No. 'Course not! Here. F---n' drive this whole first row home, Jasper. Yeah. There ya go.

Six times... Me? Oh, hell yes. This is California. Traffic School's a right of passage. Yeah. What? 400 times. No lie. Really. I taught Comedy Traffic School in this city every Saturday and every Sunday for Eight Years. Eight. Goddamn. Years. Of my life. That I can never get back. Yeah. Well, I'm a sadist, so it was good for me, but.... No. Really. I did. And I was good, man. See, you're at a comedy club. You expect these guys to be funny. But Traffic school? Dude. Nobody wanted to be there. You talk about a hostile audience? People would just stare at me. .... Felt like I was at Easter Island. "Yeah, yeah, funny man. Just get us out of here."

But most times people were crackin' up. And I got so good, I put out a tip jar. Nice Balls, Scotty-boy. No, seriously. I was worth it. Did you see this? (Point to face and strike a pose) Guapo, baby. Look, it was eight hours, man. I don't even do things I enjoy for eight hours straight. The least I could do is try and have a good time. So I made it like a little night club deal. Eight Hours of stand-up twice a week. Like a little Jerry Lewis Telethon. We'd just fucking commiserate. "Oh, god, yeah. Me, too." People coming in, I'd greet 'em, "Ok. So, will that be Speeding or Non-Speeding? Right this way." No, but I'd tell 'em there's really no way you're gonna avoid the tickets, so what I'd do is I'd tell them how to lessen the probability of getting them. Which most people got behind, and got on board, and took the Scott Miller Train all the way to graduationville. And we had a blast. I told them, at the end of 8 hours, they wouldn't want to leave. 8 hours was not enough time. All the s--t they'd learn! When they left my class, they'd see colors they never knew existed! They'd drive their loved ones crazy with three little words: "Scott Said So." For two weeks, they'd be pointing s--t out, like, "See that? He can't do that, it's $150 fine. Scott Said So!"

You want to avoid traffic school for the rest of your life? One main thing. Remember just one main idea: Nobody's as cool as you. And ain't that the truth, man. Nobody out there knows what you know about traffic, do they? They grow up with you? Go through the same life events that made you such an upstanding American figure? Hell, No. They're Morons. And that's the word I'd use, too: Morons. I don't mean to offend anyone who might be related to or married to a Moron, I'm simply stating....Yeah. There's always one or two, you know. But, no, really, think about it. Does any other driver out there know what you know about driving, or cars, or maintenance, or f---n' physics? No. No way. Now, yeah, I mean, Sure. We all learned the same basic information, but...you know as well as I that there are some people in here right now that remember a time in this country when there was no such thing as an automatic transmission. And now, cars park themselves. Parking. That's another one. It's one of the basic tenents of vehicle operation around the globe, now thrown asunder because this (mime backing into a parking spot) is too hard. You know what? If you can't parallel park? Enjoy the f---ng bus! Cuz, what else can't you do? So that's a big one, remembering nobody's as cool as you. You want more, check out my website: OfficialScottSaidSo.com.