This is not me being funny

I drove to Arlington Cinema and Draft House tonight under the impression that the open mic there is an opportunity for any comedian to stand up and try to be funny.  Based on the previous two open mics I've gone to there, there did not seem to be any particularly stringent requirements in terms of how funny you have to be.  To put it another way: lots of them suck, really, really bad.  Never mind the fact that the term "open mic" implies that there is a mic which is open for those who would dare to use it.

So I show up 45 minutes early tonight to speak with the two guys that organize it, as per instruction I'd received from e-mailing the owner of the Draft House, and when I speak to the head guy (who is one of the two organizing comedians), he says "well actually this is not a place beginners can come.  This is for local comics trying to work in the area.  Its not so much an open mic as it is a comedy showcase."  Semantics aside, I could have said "well you see I'm an MD resident trying to work as a comic," but I didn't.  Anyway, semantics aside: it is called an OPEN MIC.  If it is a comedy showcase then call it "Saturday Night Comedy Showcase" not "Saturday Night Open Mic."

If I were running a confession booth, I would not call it a peep show for kicks.  Because then some jackass like me would show up expecting to see some chick fuck herself in the booth next to me, and instead I'd have some priest like "yeah well it is less of a peep show and more of a place where local men can come to offload their shame."  That would be understandably disquieting!

I didn't want to step on any toes, so I listened and pretended to be understanding while this frosted chode told me that I had no chance of going on stage.  I asked him: "So is there like a 5% chance that I'll be able to go up on stage?"  And he said: "well actually it is 0% because of time constraints and blah blah blah."  So I reluctantly resign myself to not being funny that night, and just start drinking.

I don't know if it was bitterness or the fact that most of the comics at that place fucking blow but I just couldn't seem to laugh at any of their jokes.  So as I'm getting up to leave, that same head guy comes over to me and says "ok so we are going to put you on after the next two guys and we are giving you about three minutes so just do the choice parts of whatever you have prepared."

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I'd been drinking for the last hour and a half, which is something an unestablished comic should not do, but I did, because I was told there was a 0% chance that I'd go on stage.  Having this dickhead tell me "ok you're going on in 10 minutes and you only have three on stage, be sure to condense it" (paraphrase) would be like me going swimming in a freezing cold lake, only to have Olivia Wilde stroll up and say, "so hey I'm waiting for my husband to finish taking a shit, can you fuck me for like three minutes?  Get ready really fast and make it worth my while."

I've practiced my routine a lot.  I have a terrific memory when I need it, and I knew what bits would work and which wouldn't. Basically in the time given to me, I came up with what I would say and what I wouldn't.  I managed to mentally prepare myself for going on.  But rather than putting me on, he puts on a guy who has been there the past two weeks and did the same material he did those past weeks.  Afterward he came over and said "oh by the way sorry Lafayette came in last minute and wanted to try some stuff out, you know what its like, right?"  At this point I was getting a bit snarky.  I said: "actually, no, I do not know what it is like, since I have never been there."

I was so pissed.

I resigned myself to not going on, and was upset about it.  Then I am told I'm going on, but given regulations.  I plot a cognitive map to get around it, and modify my routine on the fly to accommodate last minute changes--this is not something I'm bragging about, but I don't think a lot of beginners could do it.  Especially since the shitheads here have supposedly been doing this for years and still read prompts on notebooks that they hold on stage.

I got a "hate boner."

Its like a regular boner, only rather than blood filling your penis, it's full of spite and it cums malice.  And the only thing that you'd feel right fucking with it is someone's skull.  Particularly the goddamn host that jerked me around the entire night.

And why?  To put on shitty comics that are a part of some Arlington comic-fraternity.  One of the wonderful acts that went on tonight was a fat chick who claimed men like to cat call her constantly.  The entire routine it took every shred of willpower I had to not jump up and yell "what a goddamn liar holy shit."  That would be like me claiming that when I walk through ghettos black guys ask me to freestyle rap with them before we all go shoot some hoops together.  All comics have their set-ups to their routines, but its somewhat believable.  She could say something like "a lot of guys mistake me for a taxi when I wear yellow shirts," and I'd get it, but not that guys cat call her.

She said that people assume because she is fat that she is great at blowjobs and then said "yeah and it's because we take classes in high school haw haw."  No, it is because you eat lots of hot dogs you fucking pig. With that much phallic experience how could you possibly be bad at sucking dicks?  I wouldn't want her to suck my dick regardless; she looked like Danny DeVito for Christ's sake!  If I wanted the Penguin from Batman to suck my dick, there are plenty of look-a-likes at a gay club, and the only thing I have to do to get a blowjob there is make myself available.  

Abridged version: three hour round-trip to see shitty comedians do the same shitty jokes they've done for two weeks, was jerked around, didn't get to do stand-up, myself, and am angry about it.

Going to bed now.  Fuck an Arlington.