Last night the Devil went down to Divas town, but ...the Devil didn’t go down in Divas town; as in most comic escapades, the Devil is in the details. Yes, last night was a true trickster trichotomy, consisting of myself, (Sir Limp-A-Lot), Sir Trent O’ Paisley and our Comic Crown Prince descended on Diva’s Amateur Comedy contest. ‘Divas’ is ToonTown’s only gay nightclub, but, they do invite straight people to all their events. The one possibly discordant note would be that our Crown Prince is hardly an amateur, but, as it turned out, he didn’t emerge from the Comic Closet as the new Queen of Comedy! One word of caution, gentle readers, if you’re looking for Gay bashing ...you’d best look elsewhere.
I’d agreed to meet my companions at Divas at 9:00 pm, and would have made it, but ...I got lost. My GPS landed me about two blocks from the establishment, and I set out on foot. I’d expected a billboard at an entrance off 3rd Avenue, but such was not the case. Finally, risking my masculinity, I had to break down and ask for directions. This presented a challenge; here I was, a comic in a black leather kilt and pink dress shirt, asking apparently macho men on the street, for directions to a Gay Nightclub! I did receive odd looks, but ...that can be expected when you look odd! Finally two tattooed ladies directed me down a back alley, and, sure enough, smoking a cigarette outside an unmarked door, was ‘Crystal’, who, as it turned out, was our MC for the evening. I was half an hour late, but just in time for the five minute warning.
I’m unfamiliar with the protocol in this type of place, and was asked for ID before being allowed in. The doorman, a very large, very healthy tattooed chap, explained that this was not to check my age ...they take the names of all who enter. Once ‘buzzed’ in I quickly located my pals, and the event commenced. It was unusual; anyone wishing to participate had to place their name in a hat, and contestants were drawn and called up three at a time. In total twelve names were drawn in four separate rounds, and the winner of each went on to the final round.
Trent got picked for the first round; Crystal interviewed each contestant prior to their going on stage. Myself and the Prince heartily enjoyed watching him raked over the coals for his ‘choice’. He was grilled on whether or not he’d ever ‘experimented’, and, when he admitted to being, occasionally, a little ‘premature’, got a thorough going over. Appropriately, he did his ‘barbeque’ routine; it was well received, but he did not get to go on to the next level.
To be fair, with the exception of ourselves, all the contestants presented ‘street jokes’, and that’s OK, this event was for amateurs. The fellow who won Trent’s round was the same doorman who’d taken my name; he told the only joke of the evening that I’d not heard before:
“What’s the difference between eating mashed potatoes,
And eating pussy?”
“Mashed potatoes don’t make their own gravey!”
In the next round our Prince’s name came out of the hat, and he was, as always, a real crowd pleaser, winning easily. Crystal seemed enthralled with him, offering to help him win, help him drink his winnings, and explore further possibilities the evening might offer! Our Prince took it all with his charming smile, objecting only that, ...he doesn’t drink! The abuse directed at us was continuous throughout the evening, but ...hey ...it’s attention! When our Prince returned to our table I smiled and told him that I thought he’d found a new ‘FaceBook’ friend.
None of us were drinking last night, but both pals forced their free tickets on me. I informed them that I hadn’t come to a Gay bar to be bought drinks by ‘straights’. Then it was time for a break, and all the smokers headed out to the alley. Joking aside, all the people I met last night were great, and I wasn’t my usual reclusive self. I’d forgotten to mention that prior to the break, a fellow was introduced who was doing ‘stand-up’ for the first time; he wasn’t competing in the contest. He was having a smoke so I shook his hand and said that he’d done a great job. We chatted, and he’d just gotten to the point of mentioning that my shoes looked like Cop shoes! “Oh no!” thought I, “Not the Cop issue again!” But, I was saved by the Belle! A young lady came up, kissed the comic, turned to me and said, “You look familiar! ...James!”
She was a lady from New Zealand I’d worked with at my former job at MISI. We quickly got re-acquainted, then, when we went inside, I gave her one of my free drink tickets. I kinda’ liked the comic I’d talked with, but, as I was soon to learn, ...not as much as he liked me! Inside I was disappointed not to be selected for the third round. Then my name was the second drawn for the fourth!
My interview! It was fun. I was, if you’ll forgive the pun, ‘Queried’, as to my orientation. I replied that, “I’m as straight as my Pecker! But ...I’m fifty, and ...it droops!” Next I was asked if I was single; “That’s what I tell everybody ...except my wife!” Next, a little analysis of my experience; had I ever ...well ... ‘taken it like a man'?’ When I responded in the negative, our MC, Crystal, launched into the suggestion that I might expand, if not my horizons, at least my anal sphincter! Then, if I wasn’t willing to enjoy a ‘full moon’, (and here I must insist that it wouldn’t be just wolves you’d hear howlin’!), then, at the very least, a little digital prostate stimulation might improve my performance! “You should ask your doctor,” Crystal intoned, as she handed me the mike, “he might suggest it!” What could a man, mike in hand, say? I smiled at the audience and replied; “My Dr. didn’t suggest, ...he demonstrated!” Waiting for the roar to subside I had plenty of time to take a good look at the room.
Interesting; long narrow space before me, and, something I’d never experienced, a balcony, filled with expectant faces, along the entire length of the second floor. Then, the laughter stopped, and I began:
“Evening everyone ...it’s great to be at ‘Divas’”
(Somehow I managed to mispronounce the name of the bar, giving it a long ‘I’ vowel, rather than the intended long ‘E’! This was quickly pointed out, and I apologised!)
“Sorry ...but I’m a ‘muff’ man!”
(Another opportunity to gaze about the room!)
It quickly devolved from bad to atrocious!
“Lotta’ good looking girls here tonight, but, sorry ladies, Mature women are the Best! ...”
On it went; the audience loved it! The most enthusiastic response came from the staff at the bar. Finally it was over, and I found that our MC was no ‘diamond in the rough’, merely a rather ‘flawed crystal’. When I was announced winner, he/she gave the other two contestants their drink tickets, but refused mine! I protested; not that I wanted the ticket, but, come on, rules is rules! He/she almost spat at me, “You’ll get yours ...if you win the next level!” Hmmm ...some folks just can’t take a joke ...our Crystal struck me as sort of a ‘Pissy Missy’!
Then, nature drew me upstairs. When I was a kid I suffered from, ‘stage fright’; I had difficulties peeing in public. Not so much now, but ...a double whammy; diabetes makes me need to pass water all the time & the beginnings of a little prostate problem make it difficult all the time. Two urinals and one occupied by the first time comic I’d talked to over a smoke. No problem, but, the eternal question rears its ugly head. “Are you wearing your kilt in the traditional manner?” I’m distracted at the moment; my hands are full, and so is my bladder ...water under the bridge/over the bridge, I don’t care ...just so it goes! Should have thought, but no; “Do we wear anything under the kilt? ...Well, I can’t speak for the rest of us, but ...the best of us wear just a touch of lip gloss!”
“Ok”, he responds, “I’ll go get mine, or, you can have it bare skin!” I haven’t been propositioned by a man since I was a teenager, and my thoughts on the matter haven’t changed! “Still Hetro after all these years!” My first thought is to say, “Look buddy, you’re a comic. You can beat my jokes, you can beat my timing, you can beat my stage presence ...but, ...you can’t beat my meat!” No ...a little to Cocky! So instead, “Sorry buddy, but like I said on stage ...I’m married!” He seems apologetic; “Oh! ...I thought you were lying ...like everybody else!” He leaves, and leaves me thinking; “Some Stand-up comic, if your best stage time is on your knees in a public washroom!” Mine is not an ... ‘Open Mike!’
A little shaken, (and, in a kilt you should always ...shake!), I nip out for a smoke, (Not ‘after’ but ‘instead’!) hardly get it lit, and I’m called back in for the finals, where, comedicly speaking, I fall flat on my ass! Oh well! I finally get my drink ticket, a T-shirt, and a couple of light pendants with the ‘Divas’ logo. Our Prince takes second place, not deservedly so, but, remember that ‘overrule’ rule. I have two drink tickets to dispose of, so pass them off to a couple of fellows I’d talked to earlier in the evening, and headed for my car. I’d like to tell you that I drove off alone, but, no; I took another gay guy with me, but ...that’s another long story!
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