West End Comedy Club and Lounge.

It started off like any other night for Morton Jonathan Dewolski born 1971, exact date unknown.  He was in another run down town for a gig at a seedy night club, stumbling half dazed and drunk from some dive bar he found close enough to the venue.  He didn't care people paid to see him, most of them probably came for the bigger names on the docket for the nights entertainment. but he didn't care he would do his thing and move on with a nice healthy payday.  

Amazingly he wasn't as scruffy looking as he normal found himself, must have taken sometime to clean up in the last day or two, or maybe it was his manager forcing it upon when she dropped him off at the local motel no tell hotel inn establishment.  He wasted no time in finding a couple of attractive strippers to bed for the first few nights, but not this night.  Tonight he would be banging three or four groupies; there were always groupies to bed after a show, even for the opening acts and he'd long since stopped being just an opening act.

Fast forward an hour or so and he's sitting backstage in the shittiest dressing room he'd ever been in.  Eye banging himself in the mirror.

"Damn I'm a sexy man, might go for a record six groupies tonight at the same time.  Oh yeah."





He's a man that thinks awfully highly of himself; smug, cocky, and just a touch conceited, but in an arrogant sort of way.  But he wasn't wrong about the backstage area of this particular comedy and night club.  There was a bathroom, basically a stand up shower, a toilet, and a sink all stuffed into a small closet no bigger than your average walk-in closet.  A small fold up table was crammed against the bathroom wall and a very uncomfortable chair was stuff under until Morton had sat down on it.  The rest of the room minus about seven whole feet of walking room to the stage door was stocked to the ceiling with canned goods of all varieties meats, vegetables, soups, and pretty much anything that could be canned.  He shook his head as he looked at the canned goods occupying more of the dressing room than his side collectively could.  That's when the knock came and the club owner stuck his head in.

"You're the Dew boy?  Yeah and you're closing out the show, the main attraction bailed, so you've got to fill in for their time slot too.  Don't blow it, and I'll give you the bulk of their fee, blow it and well the crowd just might lynch you.  I'll make your introduction in five minutes be ready."

"I've got this don't worry Raccoon City will Do the Dew tonight!  The crowd loves to Do the Dew!"

"Jackass!"

The owner mumbled as he slapped the door shut behind himself.  Morton sighed and started doing a few squats to wake himself up and maybe burn off some of the excess alcohol in his system.  The five minutes passed and he waited just a moment longer until he could hear the crowd cheering.  Stepping out the door and around the corner, down the three feet of hallway, through the curtain, and onto the stage.  Chicken wire was wrapped around the entire stage and the door was chained and padlocked from the outside, for his safety with the lock stuffed through to the inside.  Eh he thought nothing new, a lot of seedy clubs he had worked had chicken wire cage stages and locked stage doors to protect the acts if the locals started to get rowdy.  Stepping up to the mic he thought about all the things he was going to say...

And he started where he always did at birth.

"That's right folks you heard it.  My name is Morton Dewolski but all my fans call me Mt Dew!  And if you're feeling froggy after the show ladies, you can Do the Dew too!  Now when I was born; there were no baby showers, and happy birthdays, and we dropped you on your head moments.  Oh no I got the first class ticket to boarding school in Munich.  Yeah Jawohl mein fuhrur!  Yeah that joke didn't go over too well as a blonde American kid in a German boarding school.  Somebody thought it would be funny to bleach my hair for the first half of my life, and ship me off to Germany.  I wasn't laughing I was the only blonde with black eyes in the country... black and blue."

The crowd was laughing, but not all of them, it was a tough crowd.  Thankfully this was just his warm up.

"I was a shining example of the American flag all red, black, and blue.  What the white was covered by red, bloodshot eyes and blood dripping all over.  Of course it could have been my sense of humor I mean it's not every day you have too look at your teachers and try explaining to them that your family tree starts with beakers and tweezers.  Followed by like I was saying my mother was a test tube and dad was a no show.  It was 1971 and science was all in favor of experimental coupling.  Apparently dad might as well have been dead, for how much he participated in my inception.  I hear the operating table got more of a rise out of him than the test tube they stored me in until they found a suitable egg plant me in.  Go figure I got laid before I was born.  So I went from the operation table into a test tube, straight into an egg implanted into a runaway bride. My life just started off great.  It's no wonder the runaway bride kept calling me the terrible baby whenever I started to act up.

So boarding school was a no brainer, kind of like some of you tonight who can't see the humor in that.  My mother was a test tube."

And so the show began, and the night had only just gotten started.  At some point during his comedy set the equipment all cut out and the crowd started to get a little rowdier.

"Hey now, this is not kosher pal.  Alright folks, screw the mic, I'll do this the old fashion way, you know not how my parents did the dirty, or the runaway bride that raised me for like six years.  But the show must go on and on and on and on, and not just because I want to get paid.  I'm locked in here, god it's boarding school all over again, just another day in the concentration camp...  

What too soon, the wars been over for some fifty years, laugh about it already."

And the show will go on and on and on throughout the night as things unfold.

"Now let me move on to the next topic of tonight's amazing show.  And we all know it's one of the big draws to coming out to see me.

You might be dumb as shit... if you steal another comedian's routine.

You might be a fucking moron... if fail to give him credit when stealing his material.  

And you might... be in deep legal shit, when he files a lawsuit because your gimmick infringing ass goes and makes a full comedy album and makes bank on it.  And not just because you imitated his voice too.

Now before anyone goes off the deep end, I was doing this routine back in high school, before a certain Worthy Fox gentlemen broke into the mainstream with his hillbilly ass backwards ways...

I met this man once, I did a show in his hometown, well where he was living at the time.  And he came up to me.  Shook my hand.  Slapped me on the back a few times and guffawed in that ridicules' voice of his.  Son that was some of the funniest shit I have heard in years.  Imagine my surprise about a year later when I'm at the K-mart and I see this album labeled Jeff Foxworthy...

You might be a redneck if...

Son of a bitch! I screamed so loud in the electronics section the cashiers at the front of K-mart thought my water broke and I was having triplets.  I have never been so embarrassed in my life.  I left the store and haven't gone back since.  I now send my manage to shop for me.  You have no idea how degrading it is to see all your hard work stolen by some uppity redneck with a rich daddy.  Well richer than me.  

You might be dumb as shit... if your social circle includes only your siblings and all your hands.

You might be dumb as shit... if you parents approve of this behavior.

You might be inbred... if they join in.

You might be dumb as shit... if you paid a scalper for your tickets to the show tonight.  

You might be dumb as shit... if you paid said scalper three times the price to get in the door.

You might be dumb as shit... if you paid your stand up comedian with said scalped tickets...

You might be dumb as shit... But thankyou for buying my spare tickets I don't get paid much anyways."

The lights were back on by now no longer flickering out, almost as if there hadn't been an interruption at all.  Morton strolls back to the microphone and picks it up giving it a dirty look before bring it back up to speak into.

"You might be dumb as shit... if you think your woman likes Mountain Dew... because it's a good drink.

Seriously I probably slept with her...

Twice!

More if she has a slutty sister.

I'm not saying I'll sleep with just any woman, but if sisters are knocking on my door well I'm not dumb as shit.

Alright I know at this point some of you are probably sitting there wondering. Morton why for someone who loves Mountain Dew so much are you drinking a SoBe.  To this I have only one reply...

Would you fuck yourself in public?

I didn't think so! I have some self-respect!"

Taking a moment he has himself a drink from his SoBe and raises the microphone back up about to speak.  A small grin spreading across his face as his last joke has a chance to sink in.

“Seriously now folks, you have to ask yourself at least once in your life…

Dear God, what did I do to deserve this shittastic suffering?

We live in a world..

Where it isn’t safe to go to the movie theater.

We live in a world…

Where it isn’t safe to eat seafood.

We live in a world…

Where it’s better to give than receive.

Are you kidding me?

Now for a few minutes I’d like to get serious.  And talk about some topics which are close to home.  And I don’t mean my cardboard box, on the bed of my buddy's pickup truck.  

First of all, I just want to know whose idea it was to ask if..

YA GOT MILK?  

NO, DO I LOOK…

LIKE I’M LACTATING?

Dear god I hope not.  I’ve been doing my best to stay in shape and off the

BABY BACK, BABY BACK, BABY BACK RIIIIBBBBSSSS diet.  That shit is mouth watering, I’d feed that to my whole family.  Hell I might even take you sister out to dinner at Chili’s after the show.  I wouldn’t want her thinkin I was a cheap date, with her gettin in free to the show tonight and all.  I gotta pay for something to look good and kids are too expensive.

Forget birthin’em and paying the  hospital bills for a natural occurrence.  Just imagine all the money she’s going to ring out of ya from the nine months after she finds out she’s pregnant.  Unles she’s dumb, then in might just be the last month of’er pregnancy.  God bless ya it that’s the case you lucky sonofabitch.  Most women get their kid on and it’s “

Whip cracking sound effect.

“Pussy whipped time all damn day.  You can forget about Nascar, and football, cause the only runnin, carrin, and drivin you’ll be seeing and doing is to the store and hospital and fast food places.  Baby back, baby back, SHOVE THAT DAMN baby BACK INNNNNNNN her ribs…

chili’sssssss.”

Taking a moment to get another drink from his Sobe, he looks around shaking his head.

“You know what I’m talkin about, don’t ya.  I can see it in your eyes.  How many kids?  Let me guess six right?  Hehe.  Don’t feel bad, that's a good start.

You might be dumb as shit if…

You think drinking Gatorade will make you Be like Mike,

He’s rich and famous, you're broke and sleepin with your sister…

Oh wait, that's me, I promise I’ll bring her home, pregnant is questionable.  Hope you don’t find out until somebody else is able to take the blame.  If she says it’s me she’s lying.  She did the Dew, I can’t be blamed.

But seriously on to a real topic of importance.  There are people in this world who are tryin to do some good.  Like the WWF…

The World Wildlife Foundation, not the Rasslin company you fuckin hillbillys.  And no we ain’t gonna have a rasslin match, this is a serious topic.  Oil spills are a serious, serious problem in the world.  Did you know…

That every time an oil tanker has a spill, the price of gasoline tends to increase.  I know it’s fuckin unbelievable, some dumb shit in the pacifc slips on a cocount and we have to shell out another twenty cents for gas a gallon.  I don’t know how you rich folk do it.  Not with those gas hogs you like to show off your wallet size with.  Fifty bucks for a half a foot of drivin, it’s crazy, you must be sufferin somethin fierce every time there’s an oil spill.  

God bless ya, I could never do it.  It cut too deep into my drinkin money.  And a man needs to drink so he doesn’t end up dumb as shit.

…”

Swallows some more Sobe and looks around the room for a bit, while pacing across the floor behind the chicken wire of the enclosed stage.

You might be dumb as shit…

If You’ve got mail.


Not only does this prove that the average person is an idiot with bad grammar and imperfect English.  It also proves that major American companies don't speak the English very well either.  

It really proves that Amercans…

Are online!

But more so that Assholes are online.  I know I’m three of them.  

You might be dumb as shit…

If Beef it’s what’s for dinner.  

If you haven’t been paying attention lately, the teleevision is still trying to sell us Beef for dinner, by trying to convince us to buy things that are not made of beef, or meat… or even meat substitute for that matter, by claiming it’s beef that’s for dinner.

Now on the topic of dinner, where’s mine.  That woman can’t seem to cook dinner when it’s supposed to be done.  She’s useless, can’t seem to do anything right.  Maybe she’s born with it…

And Maybe she’s dumb as shit… or may be it’s Maybelline.

You might be dumb as shit…

If you lay a finger on my butterfinger, or you could just be hungry and there’s no real food to eat.  I your woman, maybe she’s born with it too.

Once you pop the fun doesn’t stop… well that’s what all the ladies say about doin the dew!

Have you seen the dog…

More on that later.   I’m not hungry enough for that and they don’t serve breakfast foods, but could you imagine that breakfast tacos.  Not to be mistaken with break fast tacos, or getting punched in the face cause it’s…

Too damn early in the day for hanky panky.

But getting back on topic, World Wildelife Foundation is all up in arms about oil spills and big tankers not being safe enough at sea.  I mean it’s not like they purposefully dumped all that oil into the ocean.  Hell people the fast food businesses would be pissed, wasting all that oil and not even bothering to scoop up all the free fish.in the aftermath.

You might be dumb as shit…

If you go to Mcdonald’s wondering…

Where’s the Beef.  And not because that’s Wendal’s slogan.  But because the dockyards in New York City have once again impounded McDonald’s shipment of Kangeroo meat.  Sorry folks, you’ll have to settle for Beef in your Big Mac.

And your Mcfish is a little delayed due to oil spills once again.

…

In all seriousness, oil spills are a noteworthy tragedy, but if you’re thinking there is nothin you can do to help out.  Then boy have I got some news for you.  There are programs out there, fundraisin programs to help battle oil spills.. My personal charity is called Do the Dew tonight funnnnn…d.   It’s open 24 hours a day, and bangin you female relatives all night.  They accept every major credit card, cash, personal checks, and even sex as methods of payment for your contributions to the cause.  Because oil spills are terrible things and people should be made fully aware of the horrible ungodly tragedy of the matter.

Now I can hear some of you getting all riled up over oil spills too.  Settle down folks there’s plenty of show left to go and we all understand oil spills are hurting the environment, just look at the prices of gas going up and fast food prices jumpin three and four cents in response.  But at least you can still buy your kangaroo burgers for less than a buck.


There is a serious side to all the oil spills though, dying fish, polluted water, I mean a dead fish has always been a symbol of ill fate and misfortune ahead.  Just ask the mob…

Bad taste?

No way, you want to know what’s in bad taste.  Ask the guys who Peewee Herman shot in the face at the nudy theater if that was in bad taste.  I mean you’d have to ask them, they swallowed the evidence.

Now this next joke is going to be in bad taste…!

Fish SHOULD be used as sponges and mops for oil spills.  I mean they just soak that shit up.  Every last one of them just plows right into the stuff, like it’s crack.  Rolling around in it and covering every damn millimeter of their scaley finned bodies.  And they make it out like we intentionally cracked open the oil tankers and poured the oil into the ocean for the fish to swim through it like it’s bathing salts or something.  

I mean I like it like that, KFC is awesome, but than again, I Kan’t Fuckin Cook.. Or spell, but fish they should know better than to dive into the thick black clearly not water in front of them.  Swim around you dumb shit.

You might be dumb as fish…

…”

Pauses for effect at his lame fish joke.

“If you think this is going to be a clean joke.  It’s about wallowing in oil, like our french fries, from fast food places.  Battered and soaked in boiling oil.  

Why can they have oil spills over underwater volcanos.  Best of both worlds.

Dead fish…

and boiling oil!

All we need to do is set up a perimeter of batter first and the dumb shits’ll just batter and cook themselves for us.  Who needs to pay for a guy to man the deep fryer anymore? We can save money and help clean up the environment after an oil spill this way…

Now if you for some reason did not understand how that set of jokes was in bad taste…

You might be dumb as shit.,.

But for the sake of clarity those jokes were in bad taste…

Because you should never use motor oil to deep fry a fish.  What the hell would we pu in our cars then.

Snap!

Crackle!

Pop!

That’s the sound those fish make once we grill’em.

Now before we all get on our Magic School Bus into the next segment I have a few final points to make, and a new bottle of Sobe to open.  And we aren’t going to need Miss Cleo to find our way into the next part of the set.  Now who has their Pumps on…

Come on who here is wearin NIke Pumps.  I know you have money you paid enough for the scalpers tickets to feed half the 3rd world countries in Africa and South America to get into the show.

Have you seen the Donald Trump Pizza Hut commercial yet?  No what rock were you living under for the last few years.  I’m guessin you still eat your pizza the right way.





The man is going nowhere fast.  He’ll probably end up bombing out of the limelight to be forgotten by the masses.  But man I could go for a bit of his mrs. the wrong way if you know what I mean.  And if you don’t, well you might be dumb as shit!

You might be dumb as shit…

If you think porn theater’s are in bad taste.

You might be dumd as shit…

If you think that Disney is good clean wholesome family entertainment.  

You might be dumb as shit…

If you pause your family friendly disney movie and walk out of the room to catch your fried fish before it charrs black.  You might not come back into a family friendly Disney movie it might be your family porno night disney movie with one of their ungodly number of sex jokes in place site scaring your poor childs eyes.  Forever turning them into a disney princess… excuse me I mean shlut, sorry for the causal filter there…  some things just need filtering.”

I opens a new bottle of Sobe and stops with the drink almost to his mouth as he turns to face his audience, lowering the bottle back down.

“Oh my god!  I just got it.  Oil spills.  That’s why they call them FILTER FISH!”

"Now don't get me started on this whole weight lose kick."

Waving his Sobe bottle in the air as his takes a swig.

"Fuck diet plans, fuck weight losing programs, they are fucking CONFIDENCE SCHEMES.

I'm serious here.  Every last one of them is nothing but pipe smoke and horse and neither one the them belongs up your ass!"

Morton paces across the stage as he ticks off his fingers one weight loses program and idea at a time.

"Number one  SLIM FAST."

Dramatic pause with his hand in the air index finger only pointing up.  Pause over thrust all the way as he continues.

"The Strawberry, Chocolate, and Vanilla flavored diarrhea inducing liquid chalk...  Parts one and two of the Slim Fast Diet program.  Choke that shit down, but don't mix it with ice cream that's cheating.  I mean we can't have it tasting good now can we?  But wait...

There's more...

You can double down on your diet with a complimentary plate of frozen grass from Lean Cuisine or Weight Watchers as you one real meal a day.  If you've never had these product..."

Two fingers up into the air.

"Count your fucking blessings, I've had better toothpaste!  Plain, not mint, but fucking generic ugly ass nasty toothpaste."

Morton moves his tow finger to an imitation of gaging himself by putting them in his mouth making choking sounds.

"Than we have the Atkins diet, and the South Beach Diet, and a dozen more.  All blowing shit up your ass, and again, shit is not suppose to go up your ass.  It's supposed to come out, and not as diarrhea."

Three fingers up in the air.

"But wait there's more act now and we'll encourage you to take up one a hundred overachievers fitness programs to get three times the uselessness out of your dieting and working out.  Let's start with Step Aerobics...

To the right..

To the left..

To the right...

Fuck off I'd rather use the Stairmaster..."

Pause.

"Because we all need to buy a set of stairs that go to nowhere to and I quote"

He points to a screen behind him on the wall.





"Fucking even Eddie Murphy gets it, so dumb.  Why buy stairs to nowhere, when you can use public stairs for free...

Stairs not your thing, alright, how about some Tae Boooooo...

Fake boxing."

Shrug, frown, shrug again.

"I know eight minute videos, of laying on your back, wiggling your ass!

...


No...

I got your poison.  The Abdominizer, no not that either, Buns of Steel...

Thighmaster...

Wait wait I know.  I know exactly what you're all into.  Spinning...

Seriously lit didn't work for Sailor Moon"

Another image pops up on the screen behind him.





"Fake bicycle ride...

The fuck is wrong with people.

I'm going to tell you the real secret to weight lose.

DON"T FUCKING OVER EAT!"

Swig of Sobe, and pause for effect.

"Seriously that's it, don't eat more than your body uses in a single day.  If you only burn off three pounds of weight a day, don't eat four pounds of food and you'll probably start to see a difference in short order because you're not packing in the extra weight.  

Which brings me to the next and final point, carbs and calories, are NOT WEIGHT!  They have to do with how much you have to physically work to burn off a food, not weight.  Meaning if you go on a diet and it tells you that you can eat all the free carbs you want.  

And you might be dumb as shit if suck down twenty pounds of food,

Cause your dumb ass just put on sixteen to seventeen pounds of weight your body isn't going to burn off.  Congratulations you just followed your diet...

AND BLEW IT!  

If you put in more weight than you can loss in a single day.  Guess what?

You might be dumb as shit but your going to be packing it in there sunshine.  And that crap isn't going to be going anywhere with you working your ass off to loose the extra weight.

It's really simple, and yes!

You might be dumb as shit if you don't get it!

But even your elementary schooler can do the the math.

3 - 4 is you gained extra weight dumb ass!

He turned from the audience beyond the cage, the Sobe in his hand, one swallow away from bone dry.  A witty comment on his lips, when it died away. Morton blinked, shaking his head as he stared, Sobe bottle half raised to his lips…





His eyes started to bug out to the point of watering.  A streak of fear was boiling up inside of him as he resisted the urge to rub his eyes.  Afraid that she would move, that she would attack.  The suspense was building, more like terror if you were to ask Morton who couldn’t bring himself to move.  Shaking his eyes blinked shut out of his control his fear of who he saw sitting in the front row, making him shake uncontrollably.  He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he had no choice as he gulped for air, bringing the last swallow of his Sobe to his lips, swallowing it he opened his eyes…

and she was gone, instead a red headed twenty something co-ed was sitting in her place, but the damage was done.  Morton swirled the empty bottle around not even a drop left to circle the bottom of the bottle.  

“Well folks you might be dumb as shit…

If you think I’m going to keep this up all night without a short break or two,  Back in a bit, with a refill and some more of the Dew you love!”

Morton turned and made his way offstage into the dressing room in his backstage area.  The glorified closet bathroom and storage area.  Great accommodations he thought as he sunk into the crappy folding chair in the corner of his so-called dressing room.  The empty Sobe bottom falling from his hands shattering on the floor.

“FUCK, my hands won’t stop shaking.  I can’t believe I’m still seeing that shit.  GOD!”

Morton was nodding off as he took a quick breather from his unexpected extended routine, it was going to be a very long night for him.  He reached for another bottle of Sobe sitting on his so-called dressing room’s table.  It was little more than a folding table with a very ugly lavender colored curtain with doily pattern trimmed into the edging.  It felt like it belonged to the 60’s or 70’s, not in the late 90’s.

With Sobe in hand he steps for the stage door, and opens it…





Everything goes black as he sees the twilight zone logo appearing inside the doorway that should have been the entrance to the stage.  He slams the door and spins back around to the table of the dressing room and stares into the mirror trying to catch his breath as he composes himself, only what he sees there is not what he expected to see.  At least not exactly.





It started off like any other night for Morton Jonathan Dewolski born 1971, exact date unknown.  He was in another run down town for a gig at a seedy nightclub, stumbling half dazed and drunk from some dive bar he found close enough to the venue.  He didn’t care, people paid to see him, most of them probably came for the bigger names on the docket for the night’s entertainment.  But he didn’t care, he would do his thing and move on with a nice healthy paycheck.

Amazingly he wasn’t dressed like a hobo from the slums of Wisconsin tonight.  He was just as scruffy and unkempt looking as he remembered, but at least he was upgrading his comedy act with a nice suit and tie combo.  A little something more white collar than his normal two steps above redneck hillbilly look. But then again it might have been his manager forcing him to make the change, she was always pms’ing over one thing or another about his routine.  Well screw her he thought…  and he would have too if she would give him the time of day, but instead he did his usual thing.  The first night he found himself a couple of upscale working class girls talking them into having a threesome with each other and himself.  Of course he wasn’t a complete scumbag about it, he paid them both half up front, half in the shower before, during and after their fun times.

But he couldn’t have that kind of fun on this night, at least not the kind he had to pay for.  Groupies, especially the chucklefuck kind had their own standards, and you never insult a chucklefuck groupie with an offer of money for sex.  You insist they pay for your time, especially when they want you all to themselves.  Oh and for the record Morton always took payment by head count.  One or sixteen he always made sure he got the same amount in the end, and usually a couple of times over if he could pull it off.

Fast forward an hour or so and Morton finds himself sitting in the second shittiest dressing room he had ever seen in his life. He was staring at himself in the mirror.





“Why the hell didn’t I shave before putting this monkey suit on?  This is going to kill my set.”

“Hey you that Jona boy, well the main act got a layover in LAX and won’t be able to make it tonight.  You’re the final act, make it good and I’ll see you get some of their bread too.  Don’t blow it Tuna fish!  You’re on in three.”

The owner closed the door to the stage before Morton could even respond, he sat there staring at the closed door with his mouth half open.

“Jackass, it’s Whale. Not Tuna fish, it’s a metaphor moron for my big ass d…”

Morton was looking out through the chicken wire cage that enclosed the stage, with a half smirk on his face.  He’d seen seedier clubs, but this place looked more like a stripclub screwed onto the side of a lame rundown barroom.   But he took the microphone in one hand, swirled his half empty Jolt bottle in the other and began his set where he always did at birth.





“That’s right folks, I’m Morton Jonathan Dewolski.  Jona if you know what I mean.  And for those of you who don’t get that little pun, let me remind you all of the story of Jonah and I’m not telling fish tales here.”

He held up his Blue Jolt about a foot away from the microphone as he continued.

“And you ladies know what I mean, it’s like when your man goes fishing and he comes home with a whale tale about how big the fish was he caught.  And no fish, only when I go fishing, you ladies always have a whale of a time.  If you know what I mean.  Jona is a whale, but I digress this isn’t a show about what we’ll be doing behind your men’s backs tonight ladies.  But rather it’s about good old fashioned family values.”

He smiles as he takes a sip of his Jolt.

“Of course they way I heard it the day I was born my father was off saving the world…

I’m still not sure how he was doing that, maybe he was a paralegal, or the district attorney for Batman and Superman.  The hell if I know, I never met the man, and if I did, well I'd probably ask him what my mother looked like.  Apparently she was just as much a card carrying member of the test tube babies club as he was.  But I was raised by a sweet young thing that claimed to be a runaway bride, frankly I don’t believe her.  And why should I, she always called me a terrible baby.  Like I was some kind of freak accident and an evil monster.  Of course she spoke French, and I still can’t make heads or tails of the language of love. Cept maybe the good old fashion phrase; want to screw me and your girlfriends, lady?  See I can’t even say it in French.”

Another sip of Electric Blue Jolt, and he was crossing the length of the stage, not that, that was any great distance.

“Now let’s move onto the next topic of tonight’s show, the big hook that keeps reeling in all the crowds.  And I don’t mean Monstro my whale, that’s strictly for the after party, we don’t need another New York City incident now do we?”

He pauses pretending that the crowd doesn’t know about what happened in New York City.

“You don’t know?  You didn’t hear about it?  Good that means your wives know how to keep a secret and the FCC hasn’t been told about that little fist tale yet.  Had me worried there for a minute.  That is a threesome I will never forget, unless I can hook that cute bartender over with her paint on clothes and bruning red mane.  Hey sister, do the drapes and the carpets match, or do I have to play interior decorator as well as house later tonight?

Ok ok I’ll be nice.. At least until the lights go ou…”

Morton shrugged as the last part of what he was saying fell out of his mouth but came up short of the microphone as the lights and microphone cut out.  Only the emergency exit lights were still putting out light now, and he was standing in near darkness.

“Ah fuck it, I’ll go acapella until the owner gets the power back on.

Now where was I, oh yeah crowd surfing.  Now that’s not jumping out onto a bunch of upraised hands hoping they don’t drop my ass.  For a comedian crowd surfing is more like looking for a good place to drop your next bomb.  A good starting point for the next series of jokes. Or in my case this cute little jailbait looking brunette in the front row.  How old are you really, 15? 16? 18? Bullshit, you don’t look old enough to masterbate, let alone know how to drive a car legally.  Alright alright prove it, let's see some id.  Hold it closer now.”

Morton leaned down to read the id in the near darkness then suddenly he fell back screaming out loud at what was in front of his face.





"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"


It started off like any other night for Morton Jonathan Dewolski born 1971, exact date unknown.  He was in another run down town for a gig at a seedy nightclub, stumbling half dazed and drunk from some dive bar he found close enough to the venue.  He didn’t care, people paid to see him, most of them probably came for the bigger names on the docket for the night’s entertainment.  But he didn’t care, he would do his thing and move on with a nice healthy paycheck.

Amazingly he…

Amazingly he wasn’t laughing as the manager of the club stood in front of him glaring at him with the look of a smug bastard all over his face.  You know the kind of I’m going to fuck you over and love it kind of face.  That conceited I’m the best in the world you’re trash kind of look as he spoke to Morton.

“You best not wake up subject 09!  I hope you hear me, you bastard!”

It happened in a flash, Morton snagged his throat with his right hand squeezing the life out of the poor manager as he tried to choke out a threat about not being paid if he didn’t let him go.  But the words fell short of their mark.  Not so for Morton's left fist as it landed true and solidly against the manager's face.





Kicking the manager while he was down for good measure Morton stepped over him and grabbed the handle for the door leading to the stage and coincidentally the only exit.





It started off like any other night for Morton Jonathan Dewolski, born 1971, exact date unknown.  He was having a shitty ass day, and the truth of the matter wasn’t far off that mark either.  It was 505 and somewhere it was comedy hour, fuck you Lower Albany in Upstate New York.  And Morton wasn’t cracking jokes, in fact he wasn’t even cracking beers open.  He was ice cold, the proverbially chicken popsicle, he was on ice as the term is applied to men in his situation.  But not exactly cold, that was more of a misguided perception of the technology in which he was being kept in.





It was old mercenary technology but still cutting edge and decades ahead of the modern civilizations allotted technology level.  But it was in some ways outdated.  The pod itself was formerly just an Artificial Intelligence control unit for a much larger machine.  That had been hastily retrofitted and then hurriedly updated and upgraded to house both the remnants of the AI program and the current generation of Virtual reality programming, modestly upgraded if the redesigner does say so himself.

Beneath the outer layer of the Ai pod housing was a reinforced glass like pod, which very much reassembled a glass coffin.  The outer door was always open just encase the subject labeled 09 looked to be waking.  That was not a desired option, and inside the pod wires seemed to be plugged in everywhere, in the pod and on the man inside the pod, including being plugged into a very uncomfortable place…

“My buddy runs a manscaping business…”

Morton pauses looking out at the crowd though the chicken wire security fence.  He has a look of well you know plastered all over his face as he raises the microphone hand up to pantomime the same expression more vividly.

“I know what you’re thinking.  Morton you mean landscaping business right?  Trimming bushes and hedges and mowing the lawn.,.“

He raises his left hand up index finger extended but stops short, shaking it just a little as if to express a contradiction to the thought while shaking his head a little before continuing.

“Ehh, no!.  I mean…  manscaping business.  It’s this new thing, and it’s all the rage among certain groups of people who should remain childless.  It’s probably just a fad, but you know rich pricks, they’ll probably jump on this bandwagon and start in on this and we’ll be stuck with it forevermore.

So for anyone who doesn’t know, manscaping is the male equivalent to a woman’s need to spend 6 hours in the bathroom before going anywhere.   Only it’s a lot faster and entirely …

Unnecessary..”

Morton lowers his head while shaking it.  

“Personally I don’t see this catching on, we’re men, we don’t need a brazilian wax, or our anuses bleached, our eyebrows shaved to thin lines, or every inch of none scalp hair shaved clean off.   But I digress, and maybe just maybe it’ll make things easier for some guys in bed.  I mean we all know just how much women just love cuddling up to hairless little boys…”

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head.  

“Right., but that’s ok because it’s not going to make a difference in the long run.  No matter how slim and trim, or buff and waxed you are guys and gals.  It all comes back to the same thing you suck in bed.”

Arms up showing a well am I wrong look, as he goes on.

“Let’s just cut straight to the chase, and how you know, I’m right.

If your partner, the person you are having sex with, making love to, copulating with, screwing, riding it rough, squashing the banana, slurping the short straw, waxing the manbeast…

FUCKING is telling you’re great, you’re good, you’re awesome, amazing baby, oh yeah, oh yeah,, you’re the best babe…”

…

Tilted head, wide eyed asking you well duh.

…

“If the person you are sleeping with has to tell you how good you are…

…

Hands folding looking out at the crowd.

…

If the person you are banging silly is constantly telling you how fucking fabulous you are…

…

Half smile, and downward pointing chin looking up through the tops of his eyes.

…

“If the person you’re fucking is always saying oh yes, you’re amazing baby…

…

…

…

They’re fucking lying to you…”

He waits for the reaction to die down before continuing.

“Let’s be honest here for a moment.

Guys, guys, guys,

Do not…!  

Under any circumstances…!

Look at the woman you came here with tonight, she’s going to castrate you if you get caught reacting.

Guys, you wouldn’t know the difference between good sex and five minutes with your own hand.  To be completely honest you had your orgasm. Who cares if she likes it or not after that.  You got what you wanted out of it, she if she wants to fake it, what the hell it’s al good right bro.

And ladies, ladies, ladies,

DO NOT…!

Under any circumstances…!

Look at the man you came here with tonight, He is not going to like hearing you laugh about his…

Shortcomings.

Guys, don’t look, look at somebody else, but not a woman.

Ladies, if you have to fake it…

Until you make it,...

You’re in for a very unfulfilling night, because the average man is in off and out regardless of how nice your brazilian wax looks.  And he’s done long before you stop faking it and can even start to make it real for you.  Your fake moaning is annoying, it’s a turn off, no one wants to hear you pretending to enjoy it, pretending that it feels anything more than ehh.  Let’s be real for a moment.  If it sucks, don’t lie and say oh yeah yeah, oh yeah, pleasure i’ve more convincing enjoyment from a dog licking itself in the middle of a public park.

And if you can’t get your man up, ED is most likely not the problem… he’s probably just not attracted to you to begin with.  Don’t believe me just glance at his crotch right now, but only a peep while he’s looking at another woman trying not to look at you getting mad at his laughing right now.  Yeah that little bulge in his pants. That’s his ED, getting a special education in what he really finds attractive.  It’s not your fault, he’s just probably faking it til he makes it too.

And ladies, if you have a man who suffers from premature ejaculation…

You might want to get a second opinion from an actual man, because I’ve never heard of a man suffering from an orgasm.  That’s a you problem ladies, he’s only suffering because you’re bitching about it.

And gentlemen, if you’re laughing or still laughing at any of this.  You’re single!  Or soon will be!