Scripted Standup
Realized tonight what I should have realized a long time ago, that scripting my stand-up routine wasn't working. It really died tonight, although I think the script is reasonably funny and interesting. You can judge for yourself below.
Going forward, I will continue to perform scripted sketches at the Poor House Bistro and I'm looking for more venues with audiences who like more of a story than 5 minutes of 1-2 punch comedy.
As for the 1-2 punch crowd, I'm going to go off the deep end and try to riff on motifs without a script. I'll try 5 motifs and keep going till I run out of ideas or get "lighted" by the host. I don't know if I'll go over like a lead balloon or like Led Zeppelin (see, I can't stop the writing.)
Here's my routine. I enjoyed writing it and performing it.
Maybe I'm a George Burns looking for a Gracie Allen. A much older George Burns than when he met Gracie, but not as old as he was in the Sunshine Boys. We can all muse, can't we?
I’m a white guy from Canada trying to fit in to San Jose society, and you’d
think that would be easy. But it isn’t.
You
know, all you black folks
out there have a lovely dark
complexion and you asian
and latin folks look like you all just got back from a pleasant day at the beach.
But
for me, I’m pretty white. It’s like God pulled me out of the great cosmic toaster a
minute before the timer bell
went off.
<GOD:>
“OK, man, that’s it. You’re
done.”
“Dear
Lord, I’m barely singed,
couldn’t I stay a little while
longer?”
“Hey
sorry, man, but it’s late Saturday
night and I’ve got stuff to
do tomorrow.
“Well
couldn’t I have a few more
seconds to grow my pickle down here? If I’m going to be circumcized, at
least give me a kosher dill,
right now, I’m looking at a baby
gherkin.”
“No”
“How
‘bout a Polski Orgoki?”
“No”
“Come
on, not even a zesty spear?”
“No,
sorry no, you gotta go now.
You’ll be fine. People will know when you’re glad to see them. Now get yourself and your
shriveled pickle outta here!”
And He had a point, He had stuff to
do to get ready for Sunday
and, at the same time, He was working with the new Pope, Pope Francis, to help
the Pope get over his lisp.
Yeah,
the Pope has developed a lisp which has become increasingly awkward when he introduces
himself in social gatherings as “Pope Franthis.” It is also heartbreaking
during Vespers, or “Vethperth,” as he calls it. You can read all about it on the
Pope’s new social media site, Faithbook.
It isn’t easy fitting in. Often, I am
shunned. Recently, I was shunned for wearing the wrong hair net to a gang meeting.
What?
I was lonely, so I joined a gang. It was my mother’s idea.
Like,
when I first got here, I called my mother and she said, “Whatdaya want, I’m watching Maury Povich here! What?
You’re lonely? Go find a new
gang of friends, find people who share a common interest!”
So,
I thought, “a new gang of friends who share a common interest, hmmm?” And I
kept hearing about these latin
gangs who cruise the malls wearing hair nets.
Well,
you know back in high school, I wore hair nets at work and I was in the school’s
latin club, so I thought, what the heck, I could wear a hair net here and share my interest in latin
with these guys. It would be like being back in high school.
So
I joined a latin gang.
And they have a latin name: They’re called the cucharachas, you know like you
see on quarters, e pluribus cucharachas.
With me here?
Turns
out, these latin guys don’t know much more latin than I do. But they’re fun to
hang out with, even though they are funny about their hair nets.
And,
the other night, I was late for the gang meeting and, before heading out, I grabbed the wrong hair net
out of the dryer.
Yeah,
I know, like who launders their hair nets? But, what can I say? I’m a white guy
from Canada.
But
things are getting better. Last meeting, they made me gang secretary. And, back in high school, I had
been the latin club secretary, so you know.... Actually, what they said was:
I’m now the gang bitch.
And, as everyone knows, bitch
is latin for secretary, right?
And
the way they talk about their bitches, it’s like, every day is Bitch
Appreciation Day. Everyone has a bitch or a story about a bitch. Y’know, “bitch said dis, bitch did
dat, bitch said up yours.”
And, as we all know, “up
yours” is latin for, go
do some filing, right?
Back
in high school, as club secretary, I’d done my share of filing, and you know
I’d heard about organized gangs, but I didn’t expect these gangs to be so well organized with all
these secretaries and all this filing going on.
And
what do I know? I’m just a white guy trying to fit in here.
The other night, I was at the Poor
House Bistro.
Cajun style menu. Blackened
seafood and chicken, right? ...That’s what I said to my wife when I burn
the pork chops,
“they’re not burnt, I
blackened them Cajun style.”
Blackening...
sounds like what happened to my
buddy’s high school when they
started bussing black kids there back in the day. ...Yes, their high school blackened up
quite a bit once that started. ...Put it this way,
Overnight,
they went from being a
pretty new school TO Old
School.
Overnight
they went FROM supervised
to super fly.
Overnight,
they went from Hooked on
Phonics to Hooked on
crack. Cracked wheat for breakfast, people. What other meaning could
there be for hooked on crack. Shame on you.
The
theme for the Christmas pageant changed from Ho Ho Ho to pimps and ho’s. Pimpernels and Hostess ho-hos,
people. What else could I possibly have meant by pimps and ho’s? Maybe you guys
spend too much time hanging out at open mics.
And you know, I think people are stealing my mail. Yeah, I’ve been
having some trouble there and I’m missing some magazines. Maybe some of you
could lend me your copy once you’re done with it.
First,
I’m missing the Boy Scout’s
Journal on camping
with Michael Jackson. Anybody?
How
about the latest Family Circle
magazine? Cover story is on safe
texting with Anthony Weiner. Anyone?
This
one: the Russian edition of
Gay Sports Illustrated? Featuring off-track pole vaulting. Anyone seen it?
Speaking of gay Russian pole vaulting, did you hear
that Justin Bieber
has bid on Michael Jackson’s
old property, the Neverland
Ranch?
Does
buying Neverland mean you get fitted for a Chimpanze to wear on your arm while at home?
Does
it mean Justin Beiber
will soon be having sleep
overs with much older black men?
Finally, a disturbing new trend I’ve
seen in the press,
yes, TSA security folks at
the airports are developing a fetish for body scan images.
For
some, nothing is working any more unless they see some body scans before doing it with their
partners.
“Babe, how’d you likeded my new
Victoria Secrets?”
“Sorry,
not doing it for me, why don’t you slip into this silvery gray body suit I made for you in the basement.
Mmmm mmmm mmmm, that looks fine.”
So,
back at the airport, do TSA
agents scan themselves doing it in the machine after hours?
Could
be a porn site
opportunity there.
Scanned
In the Act dot Com?
Or
a new porn movie, Confiscate
That!
