Throughout my life, I've been able to see the good in things . . . maybe this comes from growing up in Clinton, a town which I loved growing up in but didn't exactly see as my life-long home.

So, I'll say these two things about Clarksville: 1) I've met a few nice people there; and 2) There's a place called Johnny's that cooks a tasty chopped steak with cheese and onions.

So, basically the nicest thing I can say about the town is that they have a guy there that knows how to put cheese on top of meat. Well then, let's move on . . .

Clarksville, Tennessee, is, HANDS DOWN, the absolute worst town in America. I'm not exactly well-traveled, but I have been to Secaucus, New Jersey. Secaucus is an Avenue of Dreams compared to the crushing, depressing nightmare that is Clarksville, Tennessee.  I was worried about burning bridges up there, but then I remembered that all of their bridges are made of dirt, so it shouldn't be a problem.

Clarksville is the absolute dullest, foulest, ugliest, smelliest, most unpleasant, ignorant, imbecilic, inept, incompetent, boring, do-nothing, uninteresting, grimiest, greasiest, pathetic, deadest, irritating town in all of this great land. I know this from experience. I've been doing comedy shows there for the past coupla months, and before that, I had the misfortune of living there for a year. Complete, utter Hell. Period.

If you ever find yourself thinking, "Hey, I have way too much HOPE," then go to Clarksville. All the hope you have will be sucked out of you within minutes. The first time I stayed the night there, they had a huge tornado that destroyed downtown. Oddly enough, it was the most exciting thing to happen in that town in approximately EVER, and the tornado also created over 3 million dollars in improvements. You'd think I would have taken it as a sign. But NOOOO . . .

I ended up staying there for a year, and get this, I was trying to help get a DOT-COM off the ground. That's right, A DOT-COM IN FUCKING CLARKSVILLE. You can imagine how anything involving a computer went over in Duh-Town. As soon as we showed those jackasses our "magical talking picture box," they would run and hide behind their desk, clutching to their Pabst Blue Ribbon and trembling until we left. Needless to say, the business failed. However, this wrenching professional loss was soothed by the fact that it meant I could finally get the hell out of Clarksville.  And, of course, while I was up there, I was so desperate that I started MangyDog.com (In fact, I allude to the hell of Clarksville in one of my first columns.)

There's several things you notice about Clarksville when you first get there . . . for one thing, even on the sunniest day, the whole place just feels gray and shitty and devoid of anything positive. The whole town is one big bad vibe, and that feeling of dread never goes away. You get the feeling that if they hadn't made those singing bass that you could put on the wall, the whole town would have hung itself by now.

Another great thing about Clarksville is that every single person that lives there knows just how badly their town sucks. It's amazing. Not only does Clarksville suck, everybody there knows it sucks and can't be bothered to do anything about it. Perfect example - last week, during my set up there, I asked the crowd, "How many people here like Clarksville?" Nobody said a word. Unreal.

Another great Clarksville story: on April 6, the Warehouse held a benefit for Shanna Moss, an incredibly sweet and gracious young woman who owes over $400,000 in medical bills due to several debilitating health problems. As part of this benefit, I was invited to perform some stand-up, along with Chad and a couple of other comedians in between a bunch of musical acts. The gig was pure hell, since everybody was pretty much shit-faced and Clarksville still hasn't learned to listen to a comedian when they're talking ("Yeah, that guy's talkin' . . . I'm gonna go stand near him and yell about possums!"). To make things even better, after we left, apparently 3 different fights broke out. Three brawls. At a fucking BENEFIT CONCERT. Nice, Clarksville. You know, Clarksville, there's another word that starts with a C, an L, and an A . . . that word is "class." Learn it, dipshits. You would think that the army brats, frat boys, and assorted redneck trash could keep their cocks in their pants for one night, but NO! "HEY MAN, LET'S GO TO THE CANCER BENEFIT AND WAVE OUR DICKS AROUND AND GET INTO A FIGHT!! THEN WE'LL GET DRUNK AND ROLL DOWN A HILL!! SHITCHEAH, IT'S FUN BEIN' STUPID!!!!"

I was talking to a fellow comedian last week during another agonizing set up there, and I was comparing Clarksville to Atlantis . . . "Every time, I'm up here, I can't believe it actually exists." He said to me, "No, Clarksville is like Atlantis because it BELONGS UNDERWATER." I couldn't have said it better myself.

This is the MangyDog, over and out.

(By the way, I'll be up at Clarksville hosting the D's Nuts show on Wednesday the 16th. I hope to see you there, if not to kick my ass then to comedy. However, this also assumes that people in Clarksville 1) own computers, and 2) read.)