I'm Not a Terrorist, But I've Played One on TV (17 page)

Later that night when we did our show I was nervous. I figured we must be on Hezbollah's radar now that we had stood them up. And who knew how they took being stood up. Maybe it was a huge insult. “No one stands up Hezbollah! How dare they? The comedians must die!” Also, and more importantly, given that Hez­bollah's biggest financial supporter is the government of Iran and the fact that I did jokes making fun of the Iranian regime, I was worried about doing those jokes in Lebanon. As I performed in front of a thousand people in Beirut, I began to pace quickly back and forth onstage when I got to the jokes about Iran. I figured if someone from Hezbollah had been sent to shut me up with a bullet, they would have a tougher time hitting a moving target. For good measure I pondered doing some jokes that would require me to do somersaults as well. I don't know if anyone was sent to kill me that night, but I finished my set with no bullets flying and all appendages intact. It's always a good show when no one gets shot or maimed. Especially you.

Finding Out I'm a Hooker

When you perform in Beirut, you have to go to a government office a few days into your trip and they ask you if the promoter
is treating you right. I've never experienced that anywhere else, but I'm guessing it's because there are a lot of shady promoters and the government wants to make sure that they're not taking advantage of acts that come to Beirut. When our promoter told us that one of us comedians would have to get up at nine o'clock in the morning to go to this office, I took the responsibility. They told me that even when Phil Collins came there a few years earlier, one of his bandmates had to get up early in the morning to make this trip and confirm that Phil and company were being treated properly.

I was a big fan of Phil Collins as a kid—even before I knew I was going to be bald like him. I always thought I would lose my virginity to the song “In the Air Tonight.” I know it's cheesy, but what a great song to lose it to. Especially if you can time your orgasm to the drum solo. I don't remember what song I lost my virginity to, or if there was even any music playing in the background. And if I was able to control my orgasms to time them to any drum solo I probably would be in a different line of work. At any rate, the fact that Phil Collins had been expected to check in with this office made me want to do it, too. Granted, Phil had sent some roadie from his band, but still, we were kindred souls. Two artists who had visited Beirut. Two bald brothers on a journey to entertain the world. Two guys who could've shared the sanctity of a drum solo had I been able to control my bodily functions with a bit more accuracy.

I figured I would go into this office, sign a piece of paper, and then be on my way. However, once I entered, I was surrounded by a bunch of women who looked like Russian prostitutes. I asked the promoter what band the prostitutes were with and she told me that they were brought into the country as “dancers.” I thought,
Wow, these dancers are dressed in their full skimpy dance outfits at nine o'clock in
the morning. That's commitment!
But then my promoter explained that basically, they
were
prostitutes who had to enter the country under another title so that they would be deemed legitimate. They even had to come to this office to confirm that their promoter/pimp was treating them kindly. I felt cheap. Did this make me a joke-telling hooker?

Hooker or not, Lebanon is a beautiful country, and Beirut is an amazing place because of the spirit of the people. From time to time there is fighting. Sometimes it's with Israel, sometimes with Syria, and sometimes with themselves. One time when I was scheduled to perform in Beirut some street fighting broke out—and by street fighting I mean different political factions actually shooting at each other in the streets. I contacted the promoters to tell them we had to postpone the shows. When word got out that we were rescheduling, I received an e-mail from a fan who was obviously tougher than me: “Maz, why did you postpone? We were ready for you. You should come. It's just a little street fighting. If you move fast enough they won't shoot you. Next time don't be such a pussy!”

Amman, Jordan

W
hen the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour special came out on Comedy Central, we began getting e-mails from around the country. This was in early 2007, and our YouTube comedy videos were becoming popular. I knew things were getting hot when I kept getting my own clips e-mailed to me more times than I cared to. I was getting fed up—with myself: “Doesn't this guy have any new material? ‘Persian, like the cat, meow!' I get it. Now write some new stuff.” Critics aside, people were beginning to know us. Some congratulated us. Some asked when we would be performing near their hometowns. Others just assumed we were al-Qaeda operatives using YouTube to disseminate our propaganda.

If I had been asked where I thought we might be performing outside the United States a year after the special aired, I would have responded England, Canada, Australia—any English-speaking
country. I never in a thousand years would have said Jordan. Yet as we began to grow in popularity, that very call arrived.

“Hello. Yes. We would like to have you come do your show in Jordan.”

“Oh, well, thank you very much for the invitation, bro,” I responded. “But our shows are actually in English, so I'm not sure you guys would get it.”

“But I'm speaking English to you right now, you idiot.”

“Um, yeah, that's a good point.”

I was guilty of stereotyping an entire nation. Many of the people in the Middle East speak English very well and know our culture in great depth. The rest of the world knows a lot more about America than Americans know about the rest of the world. In Jordan, you can do a joke about Lindsay Lohan and they'll get it: “Oh, that Lindsay . . . always in the rehab!” They know all our pop culture references, whereas some people in the United States couldn't even name all the different countries in the Middle East. (But they can name all our drug-addicted starlets.) I've heard people say we should just “bomb the whole goddamned region.” You tell them that there's different countries out there and they stare at you blankly. You have to wonder how many Americans were dropped on their heads at birth. Either that or they've watched too much Fox News, which is the adult version of being dropped on your head.

The King and I

Once it was confirmed we were going to Jordan to do a show, I received the highest-ranking correspondence of my life. One day, while checking my e-mail, I clicked on something from the Office
of His Majesty, King Abdullah II of Jordan. Normally when you get an e-mail from someone named “His Majesty,” it's asking you to send him your bank account information so he can wire you millions of dollars he intends to share with you when he leaves his poverty-stricken country for a bright future in America. At first I assumed it was a scam. Adding to my doubts was the brevity of the note: His Majesty, the e-mail said, wished to have my mailing address. Things moved quickly from doubt to worry.

“Oh shit. Now I've pissed off the king of Jordan. And he's coming to get me!”

These Arabs don't mess around. I sat sifting through my old material, trying to figure out which joke he'd taken offense to. Was it the one where I made fun of how Arabs talk fast, as if they're perpetually on cocaine? Why did they need my mailing address? Did they really think I'd just give it to them? How stupid was their intelligence service?

“Yes, hello, we would like to kill you. Can you please give us your address so we know where to find you?”

I wasn't falling for that one. You've got to get up pretty early in the morning to trick this Iranian-American comedian. Like any good spy with a hit out on him, I did my research to see what this was all about. I felt like Jason Bourne in
The Bourne Identity
trying to determine who the good guys were and who the bad guys were. No one was to be trusted. I contacted the other Axis of Evil comedians to bend their ears, but I had to be careful. For all I knew, they could be in on “the plot”—double-secret-agent comedians. I broached the topic carefully.

“Hey, it's Maz. Just calling to say hello. Has anything weird happened to you lately?”

“Weird! I'll tell you what's weird,” one of the panicked
comedians shout-whispered into the phone. It sounded as though he hadn't slept in days. “I got an e-mail from the king of Jordan asking for my mailing address! I think he's trying to kill me!”

Now we both were panicked. This was a bigger conspiracy than I originally thought. Turns out we had all gotten the same e-mail. It appeared that the Jordanians planned to take out all four of us before the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour really got its momentum going. Just like the president and vice president, it was imperative—for the future of comedy, as well as our own lives—that we not appear in the same place at the same time, lest we make it easy on the assassins. We had to think quickly. How were we going to dodge this? Should we just pack our bags and move to Brazil without even saying anything to our families or booking agents? Should we rename the tour and try to keep touring under the radar? The Axis of Not So Evil Comedy Tour? The Kinder Gentler Axis of Evil Comedy Tour? Or The Don't Shoot Us, We're Just Comedians Tour? Whatever we were going to do we had to decide fast because His Majesty was waiting for our reply. I'm fairly certain that if you take too long to reply to someone named His Majesty, that will just make the impending death that much more violent.

We were nervous. We were scared. We came up with a plan that only dumb comedians thinking the king of Jordan has time to assassinate them would contrive. Ahmed Ahmed, the Egyptian of the group, had a P.O. box. Apparently he'd had other kings come after him in the past, so he was better prepared than the rest of us.

“Let's give the king of Jordan that address,” I suggested. “That way, if he wants to mail us a bomb, he'll just kill the mailbox guy.”

Ahmed sent them his P.O. box address. A few days later, we received letters on His Majesty's official letterhead. The gist of it
was, “I saw your Axis of Evil comedy special and really enjoyed it. Thank you for doing what you're doing. It is helping break stereotypes of Middle Easterners in the West.”

I was in shock. Was this all part of a more diabolical plot? Was he trying to trick us into letting down our guard before coming after us? Upon conferring with the other Axis guys, we concluded—not just because it was true, but also because the stress of being hunted was taking its toll—that this was actually a very nice and sincere letter from the king of Jordan. It was the most amazing letter I had ever gotten. And to think my mother wanted me to be a lawyer. Hah! If I had been a lawyer I never would have gotten a letter from a king! Maybe a magistrate, but who wants a letter from a magistrate? What the hell is a magistrate anyway? Try explaining that term to my mom. “You got letter from a magistrate? Is that a magician who is eh-straight? I thought all magicians vere gay!”

Of course, one of the first people I told about the letter was my mom. Telling your Iranian mother that a king has written a personal letter to you saying that he enjoys your comedy is one of the best ways to finally get her off your back and accept that you have made the right career choice. That said, never underestimate a Persian mother's persistence.

“Mom, guess what? I just got a letter from the king of Jordan. He loves my comedy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Dat's nice.”

“That's
nice
?”

“Vhat else did he say?”

“Nothing. Just that he saw it on DVD and enjoyed it.”

“So nothing else came in deh letter?”

“What else should have come in the letter?”

“He is a king. Gold? Cash? A virgin?”

“No gold, no cash, no virgins.”

“Vhat kind of king is he? Tell me vhen deh king of Kuwait writes you. He vill definitely send a virgin. Perobably vearing gold and carrying cash.”

People wouldn't know this, but the king of Jordan is actually a really cool dude. He was educated in the West and is very big on showing a positive image of Middle Easterners, Arabs, and Muslims throughout the world. He is also a fan of Western film and TV. As a matter of fact, he was an extra in an episode of
Star Trek
a while back. You can find the clip on YouTube. Just enter “king of Jordan
Star Trek
.” He's the guy in the background as the scene begins. That's right—the king of Jordan is a Trekkie! How many other kings do you know who are Trekkies? I can see him attending a Star Trek convention and mingling with the other Trekkies.

“I see your name tag says ‘king of Jordan,' ” someone might say, and then very dramatically add: “I, too, am a king. The king of Planet Barzan.”

“No, I'm actually the real king of Jordan.”

“And I am the real king of Planet Barzan.”

“Yes, but your planet is fictional. I'm king of a real country on Planet Earth.”

“Greetings, earthling!”

“I'm not just an average earthling. I'm a king.”

“I, too, am a king. King of the Planet Barzan!”

“Maybe I'll just go switch my nametag to something else.”

The Jordanian Distribution Deal

When we arrived in Jordan, the promoters told us that the shows were sold out. Amman is a bustling city with a good mix of East and West. It has some great restaurants and nightclubs, as well as some historical sites. Parts of the city are built vertically, and one of my favorite activities was sitting at an outdoor café, overlooking the city, and sipping tea while the afternoon call to prayer went out. It was awe inspiring and somehow soothing. If only Fox News cameras could have seen me then. They would probably report me as a terrorist taking a break from his daily terrorist activities and sipping on peppermint terrorist tea. It's all about perspective, I guess.

I was surprised that the shows were all sold out so far in advance. This was the first time we were in the region, and I had no idea enough people even knew who we were to sell ten seats. I asked the promoter how it happened.

“Have that many people seen us online?”

“Oh no, Maz, most people have seen the actual DVD.”

“I didn't know we had a distribution deal in Jordan.”

“Of course you do. One person bought it and everyone saw it. It's called a Jordanian distribution deal. Also known as a bootleg.”

It's amazing how pervasive bootlegging is in the Middle East. There's a reason why they know so much about American culture. We actually visited a store in the center of Amman that was all bootlegs and nobody seemed to care. Whereas in the United States the guys selling bootlegs have to sell on bedsheets on street corners so they can quickly pack up and outrun police, this guy had an official store. He had bootlegs of every American film and TV program ever made. If you wanted
Seinfeld,
he had it. If you wanted
The Fast and the Furious,
he had all 243 installments of the franchise. Even if you wanted a TV series that had been canceled years ago, it was there. At the time he had our Axis of Evil DVD displayed prominently in the front of the store. When he first saw us coming in, he freaked out because he thought we would be upset. But I was flattered that the guy had bootlegged us. To be on Comedy Central was one thing. But to be robbed by a Jordanian bootlegger meant we'd really arrived. I walked up to the guy, gave him a hug, and thanked him. Then I asked him how much our masterpiece cost.

“A dollar.”

“Just one dollar? Are you kidding me?”

“Fine, give me fifty cents. You got a deal, my friend.”

“No, I'm not trying to buy it.”

“Then why are you asking the price?”

“I'm just saying—it's kind of a hit. Don't you think you could get a little more money for it? How about two dollars?”

“Two dollars? Who do you think you are?
The Fast and the Furious
?”

The King Arriveth

Something special happened in Amman. We got a message from the king's people that he might be attending a show. Of course, we were nervous he would end up flaking out at the last minute. After all, he's the king of a country. He must have more important things to do than attend a comedy show. And yet, the night before the show we got a message that a “special guest” would be there and that no filming would be permitted. It was official—the king of Jordan, His Majesty, would be coming to see us perform live.

I was excited and nervous at the same time. What if he came
and I had a bad set? Bombing in front of a crowd of drunk tourists at one o'clock in the morning was one thing, but bombing in front of a king was a whole different demoralizing matter. How would I ever recover from something like that? Would they even allow me back into Jordan if I had a bad set? It's amazing how a comedian's mind works. No matter how long we've been doing it or how good we get, when we are faced with big shows we have a fear something will go wrong. The key is after years of doing it, you learn to lower the stakes and just have fun. If the crowd doesn't get your humor then you break from your set and do crowd work. If they still don't give you any love, then you barrel through the set and grab a drink afterward. No matter what happens, the clock keeps ticking and after twenty or thirty minutes you'll be offstage and life goes on.