by Brian Posehn
ME: [BEAT] Yeah.
PANDORA: I know what you like. I know everything about you. [whispers] I love you, Brian.
ME: [whispers] I love you too, Pandora.
PANDORA: Say it louder.
ME: I love you too, Pandora.
PANDORA: Shall we play a game?
ME: Sure.
PANDORA: How about Global Thermonuclear War?
TWENTY-THREE
MY SON: THE BEST THING I EVER DID
I never wanted to have a kid, and it didn’t ever seem in the cards. I used to tell my mom she would never have a grandkid—what a dick. Anyway, around 2007 Melanie and I decided we really wanted to try to have a baby. We knew we couldn’t do it in our tiny starter house with two dogs and three cats. So we got a bigger place. Once we were situated, we decided to try to make a baby—with our parts. I’m pretty sure that first time stuck because we heard very soon that my little buddy was forming inside my best friend.
We talked about names, and it was easy because everything is easy with my wife. We had a girl’s name we really liked, Matheson. After Richard, of course. I thought of it, and Melanie liked it instantly. Then we found out our little girl had a penis. Okay. “Let’s start thinking of boys’ names.” Me: “How about Saddam?” C’mon, Saddam Posehn? That shit is hell-arious. We thought about other last names of people we love like Matheson. I pitched King—either Stephen or Kerry would have worked. And then I thought of Randy Rhoads. “What about Rhoads?” She loved it; it was an instant lock. Let me please reiterate how awesome my wife is.
And on May 18, 2009, Rhoads Carlton Posehn was born. He was premature, but he still wouldn’t have been as big as me. Thank god, because of my wife being tiny and all. He’s not really showing an inclination toward sports. And of course, I’m totally fucking fine with that.
I’m currently passing the nerd baton. Rhoads is eight, and we have the same hobbies. He’s become my Comic-Con buddy. We’ve been to San Diego three times, and his first trip to Manhattan in 2015 included a trip to the New York Comic-Con. My wife calls him my mini-me. He loves Spider-Man, Batman, Star Wars, Iron Man, Black Panther, Ghostbusters, Back to the Future, Goonies, and Legos. All the good stuff, really.
Without getting too corny, it does actually feel great to like Star Wars again. Especially being a dad and being able to share the classics together. I even hate the special editions less because he loves them like I loved the original cuts. The prequels, however, I haven’t been able to hide my disdain for them. He knows I hate them. But I actually felt bad that I ever shared that with him because I don’t want to taint the experience for him. I have tempered my rage when they’re brought up or, yes, even viewed in my house.
He’s seen Weird Al and Danny Elfman live and gotten to meet them both, all through me doing what I’ve done. I don’t think he knows how lucky he is, but I hope one day he realizes how hard I worked and that, when I was home, I always tried to be as present as I could be all the time. I definitely didn’t have a “Cat’s in the Cradle” relationship with him, especially not the Ugly Kid Joe version. He’s my mini-me, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Pretty soon we’ll see Ozzy, KISS, or AC/DC together, even if they’re all new members. Or a 3-D hologram. If Rush ever does a one-off, we will go. No matter where it is.
And if in the next couple of years he rebels and decides Rush is stupid, Star Wars sucks, and Spider-Man is a dick, then I’ll make him go to a Rush reunion show with me anyway. Mainly so he can have something to complain about when he writes his book when he’s fifty-one. Or he could just do what I did and throw my mom under the bus and call the book My Nana Sucks!
TWENTY-FOUR
FOREVER NERDY: FIFTY AND BEYOND
Welp, my book is done, but my life story isn’t over yet. I continue to tour, doing my first love, stand-up comedy. I have an awesome family, a beautiful wife who supports the shit out of me, and the coolest little nerd ever. I have great friends from my whole life; I still hang with Baden and Krop and stay in pretty close contact with Patton and the Mr. Show guys. Sarah and I are still very close and trying to work on another project together for television. I got to write a book. This book. I took longer than I was supposed to, but I’m totally happy with it.
My dogs, my mom, writing, comic books, comic-cons, superhero movies. I have the same likes as ever: horror and metal. Why I liked heavy music at fourteen is one thing; why I still like it thirty-five years later is another. It’s a part of me at this point. I’m not done listening to it, and this year I’m contributing to it again. I’ve been working on a comedy metal album with Scott Ian and Brendon Small from Metalocalypse. It’s called “Grandpa Metal” and features cameos from members of Testament, Exodus, Slayer, Death Angel, Slipknot, and Huntress. It will be as dumb and silly as it is heavy.
I love Star Wars again. We’re two movies in with the Disney/Marvel Star Wars movies, and I liked them both. I never thought I’d like a thing with that title, Star Wars, ever again. I’m still relieved. But surprisingly enough, Force Awakens won me back. I loved the feel. I loved the practical effects and real sets that felt like the originals. They weren’t the green-screened messes that the prequels were. The plots are simple and easy to follow, unlike those unwatchable turds.
Rhoads made me like Star Wars with a renewed joy. Last year Rogue One came out and further cemented my love of the new Disney Star Wars films. SPOILER. Everyone dies. Even people who see it die. It’s like The Ring and every modern horror film. Just kidding. I liked The Last Jedi this year, and a lot of nerds hated it. It felt good to be on the other side of Star Wars nerd hate.
In 2017 I made the Sonoma Valley High School Dragon Hall of Fame, along with people who had spent decades in the military or brought doctors to Africa. I wrote dick jokes for thirty years and act like an imbecile on TV pretty often. Not sure if the people that awarded me knew I barely made it out of high school. Pretty fucking amazing. Everything that happened to me, the stuff that made the book and the stuff that didn’t, it’s all been amazing. To come from sadness and not many friends to being happy and surrounded by friends and full of love has been incredible.
The point, I guess, is that I never thought I’d do this as long as I have and be as successful as I’ve been. And I want to thank Glen and every friend and family member who’s been supportive of this shit, especially my sweet, amazing, beautiful, and funny best friend/wife, Melanie Truhett, and my tiny pal, Rhoads, and, of course, my poor mom, Carole. Thanks to David Rath, my manager, for having my back since he started hip-pocketing me in the early 1990s.
Thanks to all the great, funny friends I’ve made (they know who they are and you know the famous ones). There are way too many to name, but I will forever owe Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman, and Cross and Odenkirk for everything I’ve gotten to do with them. Also thanks to everyone who has come to see me live (especially if you came back) or purchased my comedy or not purchased it but still enjoyed it. If you got it for free and still don’t like me, fuck you.
The world has gone bat-shit fucking crazy in the last couple of years, but I’m going to keep going, doing what I do and trying to enjoy it. I’m going to cut myself a break and know that I deserve everything I have and even more.
I know that I will forever be nerdy, and that is super-fucking cool with me.
Grandma Clara and the longest baby ever. The grandma/long baby bond is strong. 1966-ish.
The Posehns: Dad, Mom, and tiny me. I was two. This was right before my dad died. Sorry to be a bummer, but it’s true. July 1968.
My two grandpas. Grandpa Ed, me, Grandpa George. This is after my dad died, but probably before my grandpas died. 1968.
First grade, San Jose, CA. Cute kid, pretty happy. He has no fucking idea.
Seventh grade, Russ and I on my tiny bed. I quickly grew out of it. Wish I never grew out of that sweet Steve Martin shirt, “Best Fishes” indeed.
Seventh grade school picture. Holy shit, that’s a lot of nerd. Why do I look so damn happy? Could I se
e me?
Eighth grade graduation, Altamira Junior High. Man, I want to punch myself. I totally get it.
Rush nerd. I think I’m informing the viewer that Rush is number one. Still true. Summer 1984.
River’s Edge. Me down at the American River with my new leather jacket and my pretty, pretty hair. So Metal! By the way, that’s the river where they found my grandpa. 1988.
Straight from a surf shop to the stage. Metro Comedy, Sacramento, CA, 1988.
My mom and I, enjoying a beer and a laugh after a Mr. Show taping. 1997-ish.
Meeting heroes, with Mark Hamill and my old pal, Tom Kenny. San Diego Comic-Con, 2004.
Just three old pals palling around on the set of our Comedy Central pilot, Super Nerds, with Patton Oswalt and Sarah Silverman. 2000.
Meeting heroes. Wasted and nerdy in Vegas with my buddy Scott Ian, and my favorite member of KISS, Ace Frehley. 2004-ish.
Makeup maestro Wayne Toth, a happy nerd with a bullet wound, and Rob Zombie. Devil’s Rejects makeup trailer somewhere in the California desert. 2004.
Mr. Show Live, “Hooray for America.” With Bob Odenkirk. 2002.
Meeting heroes. Ronnie James Dio in my kitchen. One of the best days ever. 2009.
The dude who got me through high school, my buddy Joel and I at our 20th reunion. 2004.
My future wife, Melanie, and I at the Emmys, 1998. Mr. Show didn’t win, but I’m pretty sure we did stuff in a limo that night.
Happy honeymooners in Ixtapa, Mexico, 2004. I’m pretty sure we did stuff in Mexico too.
Meeting heroes, with Rush. (From left to right) Alex Lifeson, giant Rush nerd, my pal Dave Rath, and Geddy Fucking Lee. LA Forum, 2016.
Meeting heroes, with Carrie Fisher. She will always be my Princess. Montreal, JFL, 2016.
My tiny Jedi, Rhoads Posehn, joined our family in 2009. Halloween has never been the same. He never had a chance to not be a nerd.
My mom (Nana Carole), Rhoads(1½), Melanie, and a happy dad. Christmas, 2010.
Happy family. With Melanie and Rhoads (7). Tahoe, 2016.
AFTERWORD
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The book you just finished took a long time to write. I missed deadlines. Rhoads asked me, “Is that why it’s called Forever Nerdy, daddy—because it took forever to write?” Cute kid. We’re totally keeping him.
This whole writing a book about your life shit is hard. It is an unbelievable amount of work. Even more than that, it’s an unbelievable amount of words. Seventy-five to eighty-five thousand words. So many words. Let me again reiterate how many words that is. A lot. When the contract says seventy-five to eighty-five thousand words it doesn’t seem like a lot, but when you’ve been typing for months and you only have eighteen thousand words cobbled together, it’s a lot. Not to have a boo-hoo party before you read a thing you hopefully paid for. And by the way, people who read afterwords first are total weirdoes.
And this next paragraph might lose me half of my potential audience anyway, but here goes: I sold this book in the summer of 2016, it always takes a while for a deal to get worked out, so I didn’t officially have to start writing ’til the holidays of 2016. In early November of 2016 something had happened in the news. Something that made me sad and, later on, mad. Some sort of election, I guess, and everything went wrong for people who have empathy.
So when I started writing this book at the beginning of 2017 I was drinking a lot and smoking weed pretty much all day, every day, because there is this evil, orange-faced, shitty-wigged, racist, misogynist, transphobic, homophobic, Islamaphobic, Obamaphobic, readaphobic, common-fucking-decency-aphobic, charisma-deprived dumb-fuck doing things in the news every single day. So it was a little hard to write about my life and the things I love every day. I bet everything you’ve ever read was written by somebody who was mad about something while they were writing Jaws or the Autobiography of Ed Sheeran or whatever.
Probably a lot of them were mad at a particular president, but none of those people had the task of writing while Trump was in office. I’m amazed I’ve been able to write anything. It’s impressive to me that you don’t just have pages and pages of all my handwritten notes that say “Fuck Trump” over and over. I’m sure a lot of writers had trouble writing things during the Obama administration because they hated him so much. And those people are racist. Thanks so much for reading my book. See you next time?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A lot of thanks are due to quite a few great people. Let’s start with Ben Schafer, my editor, after meeting him when I wrote a blurb for Scott Ian’s book, I knew I wanted to work with him. Almost two years from my pitch to the book that’s in your hand, Ben was so helpful and supportive and above all patient, I now consider him a friend.
Also big thanks to Ben’s assistant, Justin Lovell, and project manager Christine Marra. Much thanks to my publicist at Da Capo Press, Michael Giarratano, and Kevin Hanover in marketing. Thanks to everyone else at Da Capo.
Thanks to my long time manager/pal Dave Rath, for twenty-five years of loyalty and support, you deserve a medal, instead here’s my thanks, buddy. Thanks to Marlene Vigil, Joseph Barkely, and everyone else at Generate Management.
And thanks to my favorite agent ever, Doug Edley; his assistant, Carly Frankel; Logan Eisenberg, my lit agent; Marc Gerald and everyone else at United Talent Agency. Thanks to my lawyer Lev Ginsberg.
Special thanks to my old Sonoma pals, Russ and Darren Goodman, Jim Hinchman, Joel Myers, Pete Ricci, Randy Whitten, Dan McConnel, Tony Edwards, Ian Clark, Rick Means, and Debbie Cohn.
Mucho gracias to my pals in heavy metal, Jon Krop and Mike Baden. Scorpions forever!!! Thanks to Rush for ruling. Thanks to Kirk and Metallica, Joey, Frankie, Charlie and Jon of Anthrax, Exodus, Testament, Slayer, Pantera, Marc Osequeda and Rob Cavestany of Death Angel, Phil Demmel and Robb Flynn of Vio-Lence and Machine Head, and John, Willie and Lamb of God, Red Fang, those nuts in Mastodon, Jill Janus and the rest of Huntress.
Thanks to my Sacto Tower family, Daren Harris, Dana Gumbiner, Brian Webb, Jeff Arrellano. Special thanks to Glen Vick for being a friend and encouraging me to tell fart and wiener jokes. Thanks to Alexis, Kerri, and Connie. Thanks to Kristen Battersby. Thanks to Paula Elins for good times and three perfect cats. RIP Kristen Berendt.
To all my stand-up friends: Greg Behrendt, Ngaio Bealum, Andy Kindler, Todd Glass, Paul Hopkins, Tony Camin, Chris Hobbs, Laura Milligan, Karen Kilgariff, Doug Benson, Blaine Capatch, Janeanne Garafolo, David Cross, Paul F. Tompkins, Maria Bamford, Zach Galifianakis.
Extra special thanks to my famous pals that gave me a blurb: Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman, Bob Odenkirk, Scott Ian, Randy Blythe, Gail Simone.
Thanks to Chris Hardwick, Rob Zombie, Pearl Aday (thanks and sorry I’m such a dick), Eric Liederman, Joe and Marie Trohman, Brendon and Courtney Small, Jody Gluck, and Jeremy Fleener.
To my Nerd Poker friends, Ken Daly, Dan Telfer, Blaine Capatch, Sarah Guzzardo, Chris Tallman, and my pals, Gerry Duggan, Sark, Rick Remender, Jeremy Essig, Derek Sheen, and Brad Wenzell.
To my son’s school Los Encinos (Ilene Reinfeld) and all our friends: Brady and Tiffany Smith, Lee and Lisa Barron, Jessica and Dean McNaughton, Jason and Tara Ehrlich, Albert and Melissa Vaca. And to Tori Spelling. I don’t really know her and I don’t say those things to her and I’m pretty sure she’s not the president of show biz. She seems like a nice lady and I hope she never sees this book.
To Carole Posehn, thanks for giving me life, I guess. I hope you can forgive me writing all the things you actually said and know at the end of the day, I appreciate everything you did for me and your love and support. To my Uncle Gary and my cousins Todd and Rachel, thanks for everything. Thanks to Uncle Mike, Aunt Cindy, and Keith and Kristen. Thanks to my mother-in-law, Vel Truhett, we love you, Gigi. And thanks to the Truhett and Porter families.
Thanks to my sweet pups, Mavis and Licky, and my old hound dog, Ernie.
And finally and most importantly, thanks to Melanie Truhett Posehn,
my sweet, beautiful, and loving wife. Thanks so much for everything you’ve done for me and thanks for putting up with how crazy I was while writing this. And to Rhoads Posehn, buddy, I love you more than you will ever know, but I will spend every day of my life showing you.
