Daymon Ferguson hails from Hell. Or rather, Chico California, where he was born into a white trash tradition that he’s been trying to escape ever since. High school brought the impetus Daymon needed to become a comedian—he announced to his tenth grade drama teacher that he would one day become a stand-up comic. He got right on that, too. A mere twenty years later, here he is! But first he had to take care of a few other careers—Daymon has been a diesel truck mechanic, pizza delivery guy, forklift mechanic, waiter, racecar driver, ditch digger, exotic dancers’ bodyguard, and lawyer. All of which have helped prepare him for a career standing up in front of a bunch of people, telling dick jokes. Six years of work as a lawyer have taught Daymon to truly despise lawyers. Since making the decision to quit law for comedy, he’s started to feel his soul growing back. It kind of itches. When he’s not in front of a jury or worse, a crowded comedy club, Daymon likes to tempt the fates that have let him live for the last 35 years. He flies small planes, scuba dives, and pretends to be a medieval warrior by putting on 50 pounds of plate metal and running around in the blazing sun getting hit by big men with sticks. He is also an actor, a half-assed guitar player, and an avid wine connoisseur. (But please don’t call him a wine geek—he prefers the far more dignified “cork dork.”) He’ll pay $100 for a bottle of wine. But in beer he is true to his white trash roots—he refuses to spend more than $6 on a 12-pack. Daymon lives in San Jose, California with his lovely wife, his dog, three cats, some fish, and a bunch of fussy, demanding, and emotionally abusive houseplants.