Patton Oswalt

For the most part, humor is always subjective. Not in this case, however. If Patton Oswalt doesn’t make you laugh, then you, my sad little friend are wrong. Dead wrong. So wrong in fact, that I can’t even look at you. Go on. Get out of my sight. Go to Target and buy the new Bill Engvall album, you jagoff.

I say that because I care. I care about you and those you love. You know who doesn’t care? Patton Oswalt. He couldn’t give less of a shit if you like him or his comedy. In fact, he might even prefer if you didn’t. More kindling for the fire.

You are familiar with Patton’s work, you just don’t know it. You’ve undoubtedly seen him on TV shows like “King Of Queens” and “Reno 911.” Not ringing a bell? He’s been the often-unaccredited “punch-up” writer (unfamiliar with the term? Listen to the album) on an untold number of high-profile films. You don’t go to movies? Sweet Jesus. The rat, okay? He’s the fucking rat in those Ratatouille commercials. You know? Pixar? Nemo? All that shit? No TV? Then I can’t help you, you goddamn luddite.

Anyhoo, on his latest album, Mr. Oswalt takes on everything from abortion and racism to Cirque Du Soleil with the same anecdotal irreverence that you wish you had the scrote to spew yourself. That’s not to say he discusses these topics with the intent of being controversial, but rather to diffuse and disarm the sensitive nature of them and making the listener laugh before they realize they’re laughing at something they never even realized was funny before.

Reading this last paragraph back, I realize I’m making them sound like comedy “bits” bringing humor to the “taboo” and thus, bringing us all together in harmony and laughter. This is most emphatically not the case. Patton is a master storyteller of tales interspersed with drive-by asides of pop-culture geek references and self-effacing humor delivered with a pitch-perfect timing that makes it just as hilarious on the fortieth listen as it did on the first. Ever wonder how movie scripts are really put together? Patton will tell you. The man could no doubt write a scathing novel of studio practices and celebrity encounters that would make Spike, Mike, Slackers and Dykes look like a copy of Gene Shalit’s A Celebration of American Humor, which is to say, not funny in the least and featuring a man with a pedophilic-like, kept-in-the-attic-family-secret-style sense of fashion that just screams “They only let me out for special occasions!” and a silent-movie moustache.

Werewolves and Lollipops also includes what is without a doubt, one of the most ruthless, vicious and laugh-your-balls-off attack on (what lesser comedians could barely consider a “heckler”) an audience member ever recorded. A true classic.

Still not convinced? The album includes a DVD featuring an hour-long set of material. And all for one low-low price? Damn. Now that’s what I call a deal. Don’t be a fool - with the Pixar thing, Patton’s not going to be the “cool little secret” for much longer. It’s only a matter of time before they throw obscene amounts of money at him to star in his own Saturday morning show about running a camp for retarded kids. Buy this album, go see him live, put his picture on your locker before everyone finds out, there’s no more tickets left for the show and everything that ever featured his likeness becomes a collector’s item.

8.7 / 10 — Kevin Fitzpatrick