Grew up in South Boston's housing projects. Then: Army infantry, five kids, and thirty years of Fortune 500 hostage tape. Retired? Fired? Tomato, to-mah-to.

Had front-row seats to legal corporate crime: layoffs treated like seasonal lawn care, HR with the warmth of mob hitmen, executives suffering a shared Gulfstream to Aspen while they gutted our 401(k)s.

I took notes for later. It's later.

Trained at The Comedy Studio. First stand-up check was twelve cents. Still better than a desk job.

If that lands somewhere between a laugh and a panic attack, you’re in the right place. Pull up a chair.

Welcome to The Last American Dream. I'm Ron Needham