The Best Punch I Ever Threw: Part 5

Posted: March 7, 2011 in Nonfiction

We woke up and we went to the show. The show itself, was pretty standard. Just another crappy bar show. The crowd didn’t love me, but they didn’t hate me. It was an older crowd, and, for the most part, those aren’t my people. I would never say my stuff is smart, because it isn’t, but I try not to tell the same jokes you’ve heard before. Old people in small towns want those jokes. They want hear about how being married sucks, and women talk too much. About how kid’s today need to get hit more and and how Black people love fried chicken. They don’t want anything new.

They were drunk, but they were friendly. Like I said, it was an old crowd, outside of the wait-staff, nobody there was under 30, most weren’t under 50. They weren’t there because they wanted to see comedy, they were there because they were looking for something else to do while they drank 12 beers.

Mike’s set went a little better, which isn’t surprising, Mike’s a great comic, plus… Mike’s got a lot of stuff that caters to dumb crowds. It’s not his choice, and it’s not by design, but he’s been doing this awhile, and when your job is making people laugh, you do what you got to do. It doesn’t matter if you like the stuff you’re doing, you’ve got to get the job done.

So he did. He said faggot a lot, and when he’d talk to people in the audience he’d insinuate that they were homosexual.

They Loved it.

Rednecks love saying faggot.

It’s really a testament to how good Mike is. Mike’s younger than me, and kind of a pretty-boy, but he handled these folks great. By the end they loved him, and they didn’t want to. Plus, he had to contend with me bowling a 158 during his set. (A personal best.)

The show ended well. We did improve.

People who are interested, take a note:

Hillbillies Love Improve.

You’d be shocked at how they cackle when you fake hump something. It doesn’t matter what it is.

Humping an imaginary gas pump. Brilliant.

Getting it on with an make-believe Zebra. Genius.

Fucking a pretend cop car. These guys are gonna be on TV.

Mike and I air-humped our way through 20 minutes of drunken suggestions, and they loved it.

I know the show went well, because afterwards we were offered a bunch of shots. Which is typical in a small town. People like to buy comics booze. And even though we usually drink for free, you let them buy it for you. It’s good for the bar, and that’s really why we’re there. That night we were offered a lot. Even adjusting for the inflation rate of this town being alcoholics, we were offered a lot.

Mike’s not a drinker. Not at all. And I’m not really much of one. I used to be, but getting in trouble enough can curb that. But I drank there that night, it seemed rude not to. Maybe it was the cold, or the dark, or the fact that everybody else was. I don’t know, but I drank. I didn’t get hammered or anything, but when the staff came by with a pitcher of PBR I drank it. And I got a little drunk.

The bar cleared out pretty early, and I was surprised. Then I figured they’d been drinking since about 5, so maybe midnight wasn’t such an early cut-off. Besides, these people were old, and they had shit to do tomorrow. Like drink.

In about 40 minutes the bar whittled down to just us, the staff, and a couple of incorrigibles. One of the staff and a couple of his friends asked me if I wanted to get high.

I did.

If anybody’s ever seen my set, they’d assume that I smoked weed, and they’d be right. I’m not a drinker, but I love pot. So when the guy in the Redwings hat asked if I wanted to ” look at something in the back,” I knew it was code. Two or more dudes walking anywhere together in a building they’re already in is like a giant sign that says “we’re getting high.” This weed was awesome too. I smoke a lot of herb and this was really good. I think it was probably hash, or maybe even oil. The joint was only about the size of a sucker stick, and the four of us got downright stupid. All in all. It was a pretty good night. I told some jokes, got free beer, and smoked pot in a bowling alley. That’s what most people do for fun right?

We hung out for a couple more hours bowling and drinking beers. The staff was awesome at both of those things, and we were all having fun. Mike flirted with all the college-aged girls, until each one’s boyfriend showed up. They were all spoken for of course, pretty girls in the Midwest like to get their first marriage out of the way by 24.

There was a waitress named Shauna who kept saying people never hung around like this, and you could tell she was a lousy drinker. The sots at the bar were happy to have us. They were used to having to leave, but with people sticking around they could go ahead and drink themselves right into their stupors. Even doze off a little if they had to. The guy who’d been there earlier, the drunk named John, had gone ahead and blown his brains out with a bottle. He was a glassy-eyed mess.

A couple of other sad-sacks were there too, but, for the most part, they just wanted to sit and drink, and they loved it that their drinks kept getting clearer and clearer as the staff kept drinking with them.

Gradually things died down, and even the new drunks that came in after closing time started to slide out. This left just a few of us; A bartender, his girlfriend, Mike, me, Shauna, that drunk guy John, and a waitress I don’t remember. Mike hadn’t been drinking, and once the girls left he was ready to bolt. I figured now would be a good time too.

The bartender had called a couple of family members for John, this was clearly something that happened quite a bit. But tonight, nobody answered. Shauna said she’d take him, but she’d been drinking. She asked us if we’d drop her off at her place, and she would let the old drunk sleep there. I thought it was kind of sweet. The guy wasn’t a threat to anybody, and if she was alright with this guy crashing at her place, who was I to stop her? Mike said he didn’t mind, especially since it was near our hotel anyway. So I packed him up and drug him out to our car. Shauna offered to help, but she was a tiny woman, and John was a mess. He was fat, and was completely helpless. 

He was so big you couldn’t get a grip on him, or even toss him over a shoulder. He looked like you took a hamster ball, one of those clear little exercise toys, filled it with whiskey, and then put shoes on the bottom of it.You just had to drag/push him in one direction, and hope his feet caught up to him once in a while. All of the Upper Peninsula is covered in ice most of the winter, and if it wasn’t, John would have spent most of that trip to our car having his face dragged on gravel, but luckily the ice kept him moving the right way, out instead of down.

Somebody would end up face down in a parking lot that night, but it wasn’t John.

That’s it for now. I’ve still got a lot of craziness coming, and this post is already too long, but the characters are set. Tomorrow I’ll take you back to the hotel, and we’ll get this story going. This story that still needs a name.
 
 
 

 

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Comments
  1. Lindsay says:

    After the story is finished, you need to post the video. 🙂

    • DJ Dangler says:

      I totally plan on it, I just wanted to finish the story first so people don’t have any expectations going in. I wish we’d a taken a picture of the dude at the end, or the shit that went down, but, what are you going to do? Thanks for reading Ms. Tingly (I know that’s not you anymore, but I’m not getting rid of that name.)

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