If It's Not One Thing...

It's getting pretty bleak out there

Not going to lie to you, it’s been a real shit show lately.

Just one damn thing after another.

For starters my 78-year-old dad fell down the stairs and fractured his femur! Three days ago, as I write this. And I know that’s like the cliché fucked-up old person thing, but here’s the thing: my dad is healthy as a horse. A neurotic, Jewish horse. He walks 8-10 miles a day, keeps his brain sharp as one of the best civil rights lawyers in the country, plus he has a whole new set of beautiful teeth, capable of lighting up a room from five hundred yards away.

It was just this freak accident.

My parents have an enormous, wooden staircase, my dad was carrying an ailing dog down the stairs, in socks, when he slipped, and absolutely ate it.

Ambulance. Hospital. Surgery.

Hour after painful hour.

Now he’s back home, recuperating, but he’s having to learn how to walk again; he’s got this sad seat in the shower, railings on the toilet, a walker, the whole nine. It’s terrible. A full recovery is expected, but it’s going to take months, and you can tell he’s mad at himself for this horrible curveball. No 78-year-old needs this.

Plus my mom is pretty hobbled these days too. Se’s had two major back surgeries in the past three years, and her ankle is all kinds of fucked. She needs another surgery on that. My dad has to help her a lot these days. Now he’s down for awhile.

So, like adult children everywhere, my older sister and I are doing our best to take care of them both, and their brand new purebred, long-haired dachshund that’s peeing and shitting all over the place, in addition to the eleven-year-old purebred, long-haired dachshund who is suddenly experiencing liver problems, hence my father’s carrying of him down the aforementioned wooden staircase, and it’s like damn, this feels like a lot.

And the second you start to think like that, the hits keep on coming!

As I write this I’m sequestered in my basement, while my wife, and two boys are upstairs puking their brains out. I don’t know what’s going on in your neck of the woods, but here in Denver, it’s all norovirus, all the time. Seems it’s become a staple of winter 2025, like the most boring Super Bowl of all time, and Nazis in the White House. We kept it at bay as long as we could, but now the norovirus has invaded the Cayton-Holland house hold too, and just in time for me to headline Comedy Works in two days!

Knock on wood.

I’m fine, currently, not a whisper of the ‘rrhea, not a scosche of the scorch, not even the faintest sting of the devils’ tongue. But my poor family, what a damn mess. My wife has ordered me down here in an attempt to maintain my health, but I’m up there every other puke sesh, and it’s just heartbreaking. Two pale, quivering boys, whimpering as they scrub vomit off themselves in the shower, all snotty noses and tears, while my exhausted wife washes the sheets again and again and again, the blood completely drained from her face. I got them Pedialyte and anti-nausea meds, but now we just wait to see what the rest of the night brings.

This endless night.

It’s hard to feel optimistic about anything on nights like this. My problems are personal, temporary, relatively small given the grand scale of things currently. But these small shitty feelings emanate outward. Or maybe the larger sense of gloom closes in, one compounding the other, until you start spinning out.

It feels like things are going from bad to worse. The fires in LA. The raids on immigrants just trying to escape the hell they left behind. The systemic attacks on the queer community. The slashing of our safety nets by evil billionaire fuck bois.

It’s hard to dig out sometimes. I honestly feel like most people I know are starting to feel hopeless. The existential dread has set in hard. We know our phones are killing us, but we can’t seem to stop. We know Amazon is evil, but that shit shows up on your porch immediately. We recycle and compost but we know it does nothing to combat industrial pollution and fossil fuels; every summer half the country burst into flames. And the other half responds by electing a Fascist.

So I do my best to try and ground myself. I try to remember if you want to be grateful for being alive, then you have to take your lumps with your pancakes.

Hey, wait a minute.

Did you read what I just wrote?

Take your lumps with your pancakes.

I just made that up, right now!

And I mean, damn: it felt sweet as hell coming out of my fingertips.

Say it aloud. Right now. Go ahead!

Take your lumps with your pancakes.

That feels like an absolute swish, you know?

I think it has legs! I really do.

Dang, now I’ve got some pep in my step!

Maybe I’ll write that phrase right here, in the Substack, and just kind of sit back and watch it trickle outward. Into society.

Take your lumps with your pancakes.

Just watch that baby ripple out like the rings from a rock tossed into a lake. You never know how language starts, where turns of phrase originate. Maybe this thing sweeps the country, the world!

Stranger things have happened.

By summer I bet it’s everywhere. Maybe some cool kids will even start saying it, influencer types. Then maybe I can get them to collaborate on a post with me. My reps will reach out, and the influencers will be like, oh shit, you mean there’s an actual guy who invented that phrase?

And my reps will be like, yup, our client! Want to do a video with him?!

And the influencers will be like, love to do a video with him!

So we will.

Just a simple reel, or a Tok, or whatever, but it will BLOW UP. I’m talking millions of views. And then I’ll blow up too. And every comedy show I do from that point on will be filled to the rafters. Because I’m Lumps With Your Pancakes Guy! And when I say it on stage people will lose their damn minds. The parts they haven’t already lost anyway. And I’ll sell a ton of merch, hats and sleeveless t’s that says take your lumps on the front, and with your pancakes on the back!

And my kids won’t be puking and shitting anymore. They’ll be healthy. My wife will be back to normal too. They’ll all just be their regular old selves again. And my dad will start walking again. He’ll be totally healed. And my mom’s ankle surgery will fix her. And the puppy will get potty-trained. And LA will build back stronger. And the Fascists will get what Fascists have always gotten over the course of history because that’s the only end for Fascists. That’s what Fascists deserve.

And maybe things won’t seem so terrible all the time.

I hope.

I hope because I have to hope. What else am I going to do, throw in the towel?

I’m alive, damnit. Unlike so many people that I’ve lost.

So breathe.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

So, on that fateful day, when it’s all okay again, I’ll walk into my favorite breakfast spot. And they’ll bring my coffee out just how I like it. I won’t even have to order it, they’ll just know. I’ll walk in, and the waiter will nod at me, and I’ll nod back, and then he’ll bring my coffee right over. And it will taste absolutely perfect.

And I’ll just sit there, watching the morning rush, happy. Utterly content with the banality of life, simple, uneventful life. And after a while the pancakes will come out, and I’ll look down at them and they won’t have any lumps in them, not a single one. Just pancakes. I won’t have to take the lumps anymore. And I’ll know that this chapter is finally over. That this chapter was just that, a chapter. With another one to follow. And another after that.

I’ll know that it’s time to move on.

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February Shows!

Sorry for the pity party, gang. But such is life at the moment. Anyway! Shows! Omaha! I’m coming your way. Two shows at Tiny House Bar. First show sold out so get tickets while you can for the second!

February 20 - Omaha, NE - Tiny House Barn - Tix

Then it’s back home —after watching The Get Up Kids play Something To Write Home About in Omaha, of course—for a killer Grawlix with headliner Ramon Rivas!

February 22 - Denver - Grawlix, Bug Theater - Tix

And HUGE NEWS ALERT. It’s not a show, but I’m delighted to announce that my new special, 20 Years in Comedy and All I Got Was This Lousy Special, is available to preorder/pre-stream, whatever else you can pre, as of right now! Huzzah! Look at this beautiful cover art!

Full release, including the special on YouTube, March 28th! Plus I’ll also be selling vinyl. So do all those pre things right here:

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The Monthly Clip

Hey, also, I’ve started making new, silly little short videos, entitled, “ACH Bird of the Week.” Here’s the first one!

God damn, great video, Adam. Way to go.

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Before you go, follow on the socials!

As always, share the stack, if you feel so inclined. Thanks for reading and hope to see you at a show sometime!