Sam Walters began his comedy career as an angry young man, quickly degenerated into a disreputable type and is now in recovery as a wary observer. He’s been honing his brand of agitated comedy in Boston for four years, working his way into all the major clubs and garnering critical acclaim—things one jaded vet told him no one gives “a flying rubber fuck” about. He also hosts the Sam Walters Circus at the Comedy Studio that some people give a fuck about, perhaps even a flying fuck, though a flying rubber fuck is altogether pushing it.

He’s been featured in the Boston Globe, Herald, Boston Magazine, Improper Bostonian and Stuff@Night, and has written humor columns for the Boston Phoenix as well as a bevy of internet sites that folded just in time to screw him for cash. He’s also penned an action-comedy about two sexually ambiguous, vegetarian vampires, that no one in their right mind would produce. If, however, you’re a lunatic with fifty million dollars to throw around, by all means, call.