First off, we've got some new shirts, and they're darn cool, as well as an excellent way to spread the Mangy love. Click here to check 'em out, and if you could by 20 of each, that would be great.

Also, remember to cast your ballot for the Best of Nashville Awards. You don't have to fill out everything (just 25 of the blanks or so), and I'll even help ya with a couple of votes: Best Performing Arts Group - MangyDog.com; Best Free Performance: Open Mic Comedy Night at the Cantina. Hell, all ya gotta do is copy and paste these suckers, and you're well on your way, and who knows? Maybe we'll be famous yet.

Well, this was a fascinating weekend . . . I encountered yet another reminder that I'm getting older and older (like going bald wasn't clue enough). Chad was contacted by a group at Middle Tennessee State University to perform at a benefit that the school was having Friday night. It was called "Up 'Til Dawn," and was a charity event in which students were staying up all night in order to raise money for a worthy cause. Being the giving sort, Chad agreed, and rounded up me, Carla Rhodes, and Matt Sterling as the other comedians. We were scheduled to go on 1 AM. Hanging out with wild and wacky college students? Hey, I'm UP ALL NIGHT, BABY! OW!!

On the way up there, Chad and I were discussing this benefit. Apparently, the charity was St. Jude's Children Hospital. I immediately felt queasy. Anyone that has seen my stand-up or read my past columns knows that I'm not the most "family-friendly" guy on the planet, and that I often say incredibly offensive things in order to get cheap laughs. However, I do have some clean stuff, and besides, it's a bunch of college kids . . . I know how wacky my compadres were back in my UTK days, so surely these would be some people that would be up for some PG-13 rated hilarious hijinks (nevermind the fact that they apparently had nothing better to do at 1 AM on a Friday night).

Chad, Carla and I got there at around 12:40 . . . when we got there, the first thing we noticed was the balloons. LOTS of balloons. I also noticed a sign that said "Helping Kids Live!", complete with little hearts dotting the "i"s and the exclamation point. Matt Sterling, who had gotten there a few minutes earlier, came up to us. He was white as a ghost . . . a ghost that lived in a cold, dark cave.

As we walked further into the Rec Center, we saw children running around, apparently playing some kind of game that was simply called "Spirit." The kids that weren't screaming and running around were pushing Nerf balls with their noses, apparently part of some running drill designed to boost enthusiasm. Looking around at all of the face paint, day-glo baseball caps, and balloon hats, one thing was clear to me: There was no way in holy hell that we should be allowed within 300 yards of a stage.

Matt stunned us further by telling us that he had been informed that there was an excellent chance that several patients at St. Jude's, i.e. SICK KIDS, were going to be around to watch our command performance. After our collective stroke subsided, we decided there was one thing that we had to do: Go find the spread. So, we retired to the "VIP Lounge," where we ate stale pizza and ham sandwiches while we devised our next maneuver.

"Who the fuck allows their sick child to be up at 1 AM?" said Chad, in between bites of rock-hard pizza. I didn't have an answer. I just shook my head and ate another roll. It was my only defense. Within seconds, we all agreed that there was absolutely no way that we could perform, especially with all of the children in attendance. This was a "balloon animals and Carrot Top" crowd, not a "Fuck Enron and lick my balls" kind of crowd. We decided to find the coordinator and tell them the bad news.

We found the main liaison between us and the organizers (I didn't catch this guy's name . . . Let's call him "Dinky Doodles"), and addressed our concerns. "Look," Chad said. "I apologize, but I believe that there's been a misunderstanding. We thought that we were performing for a group of college students, not a bunch of kids."

"Oh, no," said Dinky Doodles, "These are all college students, not kids."

That's when I got REALLY depressed. As God as my witness, some of these kids looked eight years old. I felt ancient. However, I still disagree . . . these were NOT college students, these were high school kids that had just entered college. There's a big difference. They hadn't even acquired any disaffected irony yet, nary a dash of bitter cynicism! Hell, that's what college is all about, isn't it?!?!

After addressing our concerns, a flustered Dinky Doodles went and consulted the head organizer, or Spirit Leader, or High Priestess of Forced Enthusiasm, or whatever her position was. Matt could see the conversation from where he was standing, and began muttering, "Oh no, she's upset . . . damn, she's upset . . ." Matt then began looking for a rock to crawl under, while I just stood there and lost more hair.

Poor Dinky Doodles then hustled back, asking if just one of us could perform. After about 2 nanoseconds of thinking, we selected Carla. This angered Carla. However, since she was the only one with any clean, remotely G-rated material, she was the only one who could qualify as a sacrificial lamb, without any threat of litigation later on.

So, Carla, God bless 'er, had to go on. And ya know what? She did great! She told jokes and sang songs and got everyone to sing along with her (By this point, everyone was so doped out of their minds on "spirit" that they would've done anything she asked), and she came through like a charm . . . that is, until the ventriloquism.

You see, Carla has a puppet that resembles Keith Richards . . . I have a feeling no one there had a clue who Keith Richards was (which made me a TRILLION times more depressed), and even if they did, they probably didn't approve of the big bag of fake cocaine that Keith holds in his hand. After about 5 minutes of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll jokes that were greeted with unsure silence (like these little Spirit Whores had never had a sip in their lives, GIVE ME A BREAK!), Carla packed up her stuff, left the stage to loud applause and even louder incoherent screaming, and we high-tailed it out of there, but not before Dinky Doodles ran up to Carla and said, "That was AWESOME!" and offered her a double high-five. Say what you will about Dinky Doodles, that fella's got some fuckin' spirit!

Yes, it was truly a gig for the ages, and Chad, Matt, and I didn't even perform. I like to think that not going up on stage was the little contribution that we made "for the children." I mean, after all, isn't that what it's all about?

Oh, and if anybody that was at the function that night is reading this column, do me a favor: Buy Exile on Main Street and a dimebag, play it at 3 am in the dark, and join the dark side before it's too late.

This is the MangyDog, over and out.