In 2023, I—AYMĀC—moved to Austin, Texas, the self-declared mecca of modern stand-up comedy. The home of Kill Tony, Joe Rogan, and a hundred rooms where somebody with a dream and a neurosis could finally be heard.

I had been studying comedy like a sorcerer studies forbidden texts. Not to be funny, but to make truth funny. I wasn't a tourist with a notebook — I was a mad scientist of stage presence. And yet the very first time I set foot in a major club…

BOOM. BANNED.

No warning. No explanation. Just a wave of whispers and a door slammed that I didn’t even know I had walked through wrong. Later, I found out someone said I was “too intense.” No, I was too me.

DOORS CLOSED BEFORE I EVEN BOMBED

Turns out, Austin's not just a city of stages — it's a city of networks. You get banned at one place and suddenly everyone else is "full tonight."

One of the bouncers looked me in the face and said, “Sorry man, can’t let you in. Heard about you.” Heard what? That I’m loud? That I talk about race? That I didn’t kiss the open mic ring?

I was living in my car. Not to be dramatic, but because I had no backup plan. Comedy was the plan.

And I wasn’t just some random dude — I had two jobs. I was doing good. Then I got a job right next to Rogan’s club. I even met Tony Hinchcliffe three times. Served him pizza. Made him laugh. And he told me, “I got your back.”

And right after that? The tension. The jealousy. The shutouts. Doors closed from whispers, not actions. Suddenly I wasn’t welcome anywhere.

MADNESS IN THE PARKING LOT

There’s a weird moment when you're parked outside a club you can't enter, scrolling your own name on Reddit to see if you’re the villain in someone else's story. When people say, “You burned bridges,” but you never even knew they were lit.

I wasn’t kicked out for something I did. I was kicked out for who I am.

I started spiraling. Sleep deprivation kicked in. Reality blurred. And that’s when I relapsed into my old delusion — that I’m some kind of superhero hybrid. A mix between Batman and Blade. Except my superpower was comedy filtered through survival.

THE METH KID & THE FIRE ANT TREE

I lived in my 2018 Chevy Equinox LS near a tree full of fire ants. That was home. I had a Planet Fitness membership — not for lifting, but to shower, stay clean, and keep some kind of dignity.

One night in a closed-down FYE parking lot, I met a kid wandering at 3AM. His parents were tweakers who told him it was fine. I felt like I had to protect him. We became friends — bonded by chaos. And outside all that madness, I kept busking.

THE GUITAR NEVER STOPPED

I was playing comedy and music in the street every day. Making $100 on a good day. Hustling. Surviving. Broadcasting.

Then I got noticed. Michael Winningham’s Junkyard hired me to emcee events — real ones. Creative ones. Where weird was welcome.

And then I won the 2024 Austin Air Guitar Championship. I didn’t just survive — I became a champion. People couldn’t ignore my presence anymore.

I’M STILL ON THE WAY

I have an apartment now. I’m no longer sleeping next to ants and addicts. I live in the Austin Hill Country. But don’t get it twisted — this story isn’t over.

I haven’t seen Tony since he told me he had my back. I’m still trying to get his attention — the right way. So here’s the question:

• Should I drop a Kill Tony diss track that’s really a love letter?
• Show up dressed like Blade with a mic and a fake badge?
• Start my own show called “Kill Tony...With Kindness”?

You tell me. Comment. Share. Help me finish this journey. Because I didn’t just come here to perform. I came here to make history — even if I had to sleep in a parking lot to do it.