Tom Brady Comedy

Tom Brady is a comic living in Chicago by way of Bloomington, IN. He is the son of a great lady and some Indian guy he never met. His personal, yet silly style of comedy has led to him winning the 2009 and 2011 Bloomington Comedy Festivals, held at the Comedy Attic in Bloomington, IN. Recently, Tom was featured on PBS as a centerpiece for a segment on the art of comedy. This summer, he has been chosen to perform on the main stage at the Limestone Comedy Festival in Bloomington, IN, as well as on the main stage at the Cincinnati Brew Haha Comedy Festival in Cincinnati, OH.

Tom’s also hosts the podcast, “Girls’ Night with Tom Brady”, which is a party podcast for women to party about. Girls' Night has gotten rave reviews from listeners all around the country. Check it out on iTunes, and e-mail the podcast at girlsnightbrady@gmail.com.


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Reblogged from dstroym

robdelaney:

dstroym:

Every few hours yesterday I made up one of these “Facts” images and posted it to FB. Not only did no one call me out but I received numerous compliments and one guy even took credit for an image.

lol the one with Chicago and the stuff about Kansas. Also “5 degrees rounder”- wat? And all the typos… These are hilarious.

So fucking funny.

This is killing me

I also just continued my trend of remembering I have a Tumblr once every 3 months.

I heard that if you force yourself to smile, it actually makes you happier. I’ve been trying it in my spare time. I also found out that I walk dogs for someone who has a camera in their home that I didn’t know about. So somewhere there is footage of me in a stranger’s home with a huge terrifying grin on my face for like 2 minutes without moving. I think I just accidentally made the next Paranormal Activity movie.

My uncle was a pedophile.  God, that’s weird to say.  My mom always says, “Everybody’s family has some crazies.”  Mike married in, and he was around from the time I was a baby.  It’s just hard to think about somebody you laughed with being a monster.  Mike was never like that around me.  He was weird, sure.  But to me he was just a funny fat guy.  We were like friends.  There’s a memory that sticks out more than any for me, and it is when my grandfather was in the hospital the first time.  The first big one.  I got the first call somehow.  They were trying to call my aunt, and I was staying with her, and I answered…and I didn’t know what to do.  And I went back to watching My Best Friends’ Wedding because that’s what we did when I was a kid at my cousins’ house.  We watched My Best Friends Wedding and Surfer Ninjas and A Night at the Roxbury.  Over and over and over again.  Because if we played video games too much we got mad at each other.  For some reason, we could all agree on those three movies.   When my aunt came home, I told her.

My mom drove up the next day, and everyone went to the hospital.  My sister cried.  I don’t think I did.  I only remember trying to hold it together for my mom.  I was always worried that my mom would be upset.  I thought I could control it.  Like when a kid bumps its head, and everybody acts normal so the kid doesn’t freak out.  I thought I could do that with my mom.  I wasn’t winning that day. 

In all the commotion…the nurses, the doctor, the aunts, uncles, cousins, stopping in…my mom didn’t have time to worry about me getting back home, so she decided to give me the day off of school.  I must have just been there for the weekend, and Monday had come.  A day off of school was huge back then, and even under the grave circumstances I was glad to have it.  My mom decided I shouldn’t be at the hospital all day, and my uncle asked if I wanted to go see a movie.  The Whole Nine Yards. To this day,  I’ll never dissociate Amanda Peet’s boobs from the mixed emotions of grief about my grandfather, and the joy of seeing a movie on a school day.  I remember feeling like it was going to be okay…because how could you laugh if things weren’t going to be okay?  I listened for my uncle’s laugh.  I did that a lot with adults because I figured if they were laughing it was safe to laugh.  Comfort.  When we got out, we went back to the hospital, and the mood had shifted.  It looked like he was going to be home in no time, and that this heart attack wasn’t the end.  But I guess I’d already assumed that.  It’s a weird form of logic, but I guess I thought, who sees a movie when their grandpa is dying…so if that’s true, and we just saw a movie, he must be okay. 

After the federal agents came and took Mike away, I think we all kind of just tried to forget he ever existed because that’s how my family deals with things.  Or maybe that’s just how I deal with things.  But it’s hard to compartmentalize that memory as false.  Mike, the monster who destroyed a family, was once my friend, and now I don’t remember what his face looked like. 

*I should note, I had no idea any of this was going on until he was arrested.  I was never involved.

Last time I was in Peoria, I saw they had a tour bus for haunted places in Peoria. I called them today to see when it was, and they were like, “Ain’t been a haunted tour bus here in 20 years!”

Not really…they just were closed for the winter.  Next time I’m here, I’m going to find out where the tour goes, and then I’m gonna dress up as a ghost and go stand outside of those places so that the people on the tour think the people who put it on are really doing shoddy work of trying to convince them that these places are haunted.

Actually, I might just get dressed up as a ghost and sit on the bus…like I’m a huge fan of ghosts. 

One of those things.

Somehow my back up plan today became watching the new Hunger Games movie.  I know a lot of people think that’s stupid, but I liked it.  There was one scene (this isn’t a spoiler) where Katniss and Peeta are introduced to a bunch of celebrities at a party.  They aren’t real life celebrities, just celebrities in their world that get like one line a piece.  But then Philip Seymour Hoffman walks up, and I really wish they would’ve been like, “And this is Philip Seymour Hoffman.  He’s an actor!” And then we just have to deal with this world where no one is real except for Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Goodbye.

My roommate just texted me that they had free pizza at the gym we go to…so I walked in, and pretended I was going to work out, and then acted surprised about pizza…like, “Oh my god, pizza?  I could never.”  Then I grabbed 4 pieces and left.  I like to think they saw that and totally bought it…because that would mean that I’m a guy who is so flexible that I can go from a guy about to work out, to a guy who is just going to eat a bunch of pizza in his car.

My phone got stolen tonight.  Out of my hands.  On the train.  There’s a short window of time after your phone gets stolen out of your hands on the train where you have a choice to make in how you react.  You can chase it.  You can sit quietly and sob.  You can sit and try to act casual, as if nothing just happened…just like, start reading my book…and maybe humming.  I think that last one would have been the coolest version.  I did the first one.  I chased the mother fuckers.  But not before bellowing out “Come on, man!”  I don’t know why those were the words.  They clearly wouldn’t have worked.  There’s no scenario where someone has ever yelled “Come on, man” at a robber and then they go, “Oh, I’m sorry…did you just say, ‘come on?’  I don’t know what I was thinking…here you go,” and they hand you back your shit. 

I chased this asshole and his friends.  They were teens I think.  I bolted down the stairs at the train station, and I fucking caught up to them, and a phone slipped out of one of their hands.  I thought I had done it.  I thought I’d done the unthinkable from 3 seconds ago.  I looked down at the phone on the ground, and I saw that there was a case to another phone.  It looked like my phone had shattered.  It took me a second to figure out that this was another phone, and by the time I thought about all of this, I’d let them get away.  I ran out the door, and asked if anyone saw them run out, and no one would talk to me. 

Holding the new phone, I didn’t know what to do.  I just pictured some other person, in the same predicament as me, who was missing this phone.  I handed it to a CTA guy for some fucking reason.  I am still so mad at myself for that.  What if it was this guy’s?  I could’ve called the “Mom” contact, and started yelling, “Hey, do you know what your piece of shit kid did tonight?”  And she’d be all like, “What did that boy do?”  And I’d be like, “I’ll tell you…”, and then she’d tell me not to worry, I’d get my phone back, and that he’d get a worse punishing from her than the law could ever give.  Then she’d send me a pie. Yeah, that would’ve gone over exactly like that.  Even as I’m typing this, I’m shaking with anger that I didn’t keep that goddamned phone. 

I have to have a smart phone for my dog walking job.  It’s one of the requirements when they hire you…so I have to buy a new phone in the morning. This week, my tire blew out on Monday, costing me about $200, and now with this, for another week, I’m going to lose money doing my day job, on things that aren’t rent or bills. 

But it’s not the money that’s frustrating.  I can’t stop fantasizing about what happened.  Playing out the ways it could’ve gone differently.  I’m obsessed with it.  Like this movie where I know the end, but I keep watching it anyway, hoping for something else.  The look on the kid’s face when he did it.  He was laughing.  The CTA employee’s “This-Happens-Everyday-You-Moron expression.  The short chase.  Seeing the phone on the ground.  It just keeps replaying with me holding my phone tighter.  Or me catching up to him and tackling him. Or me getting stabbed.  Or tripping them and getting stuck on the train with them in this odd sketch where your robber has just failed and now has to humbly sit at the front of the train.  I can’t sleep.

All right, I’m going to try anyway because I have to be up real early to find out that my car has been destroyed by some group of juggalos committing random acts of violence because they love music that is tragically unlistenable. 

Look, I realize worse things than this happen. 

If you need to contact me, do it on thomabrady@hotmail.com or my fb

Funeral Jams 02’

My grandpa died when I was around 12 or 13, and I think any last chance I had at being a normal kid was shot when my mom asked me to make a “funeral wake playlist.”  That was my first funeral, and it didn’t occur to me that that was something we had to do.  But it was my job to make a list of sadness jams that would really get us into a good mourn groove. 

Whenever you make a playlist at a party, there is a certain pride you feel when people are into it…like, “I really have my finger on the pulse of this vibe.  I am making this party what it is.”  Somehow, that feeling wasn’t totally separated for me when I made this funeral playlist.  It was a fleeting feeling, but like, I saw my aunt crying, and I was like, “Man, I really nailed this.”

I also worked with my mom on it a bit, which was tough, emotionally.  I didn’t really process any kind of loss back then because I was worried about how my mom handled things.  I think she would’ve made it herself, but she wasn’t good enough with a computer, and she wanted a slideshow with music in the background.  I had made her something like this for her birthday or mother’s day or something, and that’s how I got the job for this wake.  She told me some stuff she wanted…and when I made the final cut, she took some editing liberties that compromised my creative vision…basically meaning that we looped the song “100 Years” from Five for Fighting 3 times in a row instead of playing the Sugar Ray song I picked out to “mix things up.”  I think that hurt the reviews in the local paper.  I just wrote that, but that idea is so funny to me…that a local newspaper would review a kid’s funeral playlist.  The article would be called like, “Kid’s Playlist Sucks.”  Look, I know that’s not clever, but I’ve got stuff to do, and I don’t have all day to sit around thinking about punny article titles for a review about a funeral playlist that a kid made, though I KNOW THE DEMAND IS HIGH.  All right, “Ambiguous Mixed Race Kid Makes Funeral Playlist that Takes the “Fun” out of Funeral”.  That’ll have to do for now.

It was weird getting compliments on the slideshow I made because it was really pandering.  Pictures of relatives.  Songs my family liked.  But I did get that weird sense of pride about it.  “I made this funeral hot!”  Also, I cried at my own video, which is kind of like a story I once heard (I think on a podcast) where Steven Seagal got off a plane, and he was crying, and a friend asked him why, and he said it was because he had just read the greatest screenplay ever written.  The friend asked, “Who wrote it?”  And Seagal said, “I did.”

I’m sure someone will take this whole thing the wrong way.  They’ll be offended that I’m taking my grandfather’s funeral lightly.  I think however you grieve is up to you.  This way was mine, and I’m good with it. 

Also, I wonder if Five for Fighting knew that every time I heard him, I’d think of my grandpa’s funeral