Blogs

The air in the small bar hung thick with cigarette smoke. A slowly turning ceiling fan swirled the smog ineffectually like a retarded candy floss vendor. Small dust coated spot lights in the ceiling formed little pockets of dirty yellow light like constipated fireflies. The dim table lamps barely illuminated the surly patrons huddling around the tiny round tables. A hefty waitress squeezed between the tables, floating through the smog like a rundown parade balloon as she did her rounds and made sure the patrons’ level of unhappiness was satisfactory.

A small stage next to the beer stained bar sported a stool and an empty microphone stand. The yellow neon sign which fizzed above the stage read: Ope Mi e ight. In the corner an antique jukebox clanked as its robotic arm selected the next record. The speakers crackled as Sweet Dreams echoed through the establishment.

Standing behind the swing doors which leads to the small kitchen Pierre nervously looked out at the crowd. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his hands were clammy, he did not have a good feeling about tonight, the mood in the bar was absolutely horrific. Maybe he should cancel the gig, the five hundred bucks he would make if he won probably was not worth the effort it would take to get these churlish fuckers to laugh. He checked the time, another twenty minutes before go time. Walking back into the kitchen he sat down next to the sink. Resting his head in his hands he ran through his script again.

Start off with an introduction joke about yourself, move onto a joke about the dump. No! The location. Depending on the results make a comment or two about the crowd. Then run through the normal routine, couple of short jokes, pirate, blonds and babies, blacks, Arabs, Jews, the Pope, rednecks, fat kids. Start the sex routine because everyone laughs at sex. Make sure to make fun of your small penis. Nothing makes people laugh like a personal small penis joke. Makes them focus their insecurities on the idiot on the stage. Level out with a couple of jokes about your childhood, go on to tell a couple of relationship jokes for the couples in the crowd. End off with The chicken.
Sitting up Pierre rested his head against the wall, lines from jokes flashed and spun across his closed eye lids. His lips moved silently as he ran through the jokes he planned to tell. Sweat ran down his neck and soaked into his chequered shirt. The lines spun faster until they blurred. His eyes snapped open as someone touched his shoulder.
The well rounded waitress stood next to him with a tumbler in which sloshed amber liquid. “Would you like a drink before the show love?” She asked as she held out the glass.
Nodding Pierre took the tumbler from her. “Thanks.”
“Pleasure love. Good luck tonight. You are going to need it.”
Taking a sip of whisky he sighed. “You got that right Millie.”
Smiling a crooked smile Millie waltzed back through the swing doors and into the smoky haze.

As the song faded into the background a tall bearded man turned the jukebox off and walked over to the stage. Stepping onto the platform he flourished a microphone and tapped it to make sure it was on. Speakers thrummed as his finger hit the diaphragm. Clearing his throat he said in a deep voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Rotting Stag’s open mike night. Tonight we have a couple of very talented comics and stand-up artists who would love to make you laugh.” Raising his left hand he said. “Please welcome our first comic James Morrison.”
All eyes turned towards the kitchen as the swing doors opened and a spotty youth stumbled out. Nodding nervously to the owner he shuffled over to the stage. As he stepped up the owner said. “Please give him a round of applause.”
An awkward silence ensued as the patrons stared unenthusiastically at the young man. After a couple of moments the chubby waitress half-heartedly put her hands together a couple of times at an attempt to start a slow clap. It failed dismally. Handing James the mike the owner quickly stepped off the stage.
The youth tenuously squeaked . “Good evening people of the Rotting Stag, my name is uhm…. Jamie…”

Pierre looked up as Millie barged into the kitchen her eyes wide. “Pierre you have to get on stage now.” She panted. “I think the crowd might start throwing things at young James any minute now.”
Sighing the blonde comic stood up. “Well I don’t blame them, he has been giving them reason to riot ever since he took the mike from Jarrod.”
Millie grimaced as she nodded silently. Walking over to the swing doors she waved her hand at Jarrod the owner who immediately stepped onto the stage and took the mike from the profusely sweating James.
Patting the boy on the back he said. “Thank you very much James that was truly, uhm, unique.” After pushing the youth from the stage, back towards the kitchen he dried his hand on his pants. Raising it again he intoned “And now ladies and gentlemen an old favourite the laugh a minute Pierre Geweer.”
Stepping through the swing doors Pierre saluted the crowd before making his way to the small stage. He could feel all the patrons staring at him, their gazes felt like hot coals on his skin. What were they thinking? Probably nothing good. I hope they have low expectations.
As he stepped onto the stage Millie attempted another slow clap. It echoed forlornly among the tables before fading into the smoke. Taking the microphone from Jarrod he blew lightly into it thinking. Well here goes everything.
Grinning widely he nodded to the crowd. “What’s-up Rotting Stag? My name is Pierre Marais but everyone knows me as Pierre Geweer, probably because I like to shoot from the hip. Pow! That’s how Jarrod got the stag, just too bad he let the fucking thing rot.” The crowd showed no response whatsoever. Blank faces stared at him like a sea of zombies. Good God! Tough crowd.
“I see you all decided to come out and be bored at the bar. The evening seems to be going as planned then I guess. I thought I might have a hard time beating the previous guy… uhm Jamie I think it was. Luckily he did a great job of that himself.” His intent scrutiny of the crowd caught a flicker of a smile.
“So anyway, I was watching two blonds the other day as they walked into a building. I think the one broke her nose.” He passed his gaze over the crowd before continuing. No reaction. “You know if I had a Rand for every time my dad called me a failure, I would be a very rich failure.” Almost no reaction. No daddy issue jokes then. “The other day my ex-girlfriend sent me a picture of her sucking her new boyfriend off. So I sent one back of me buying my new girlfriend a size eight dress.” A couple of the guys in the crowd smirked. Well that’s a start we have some womanizers.
“Did you hear about the black couple who had a white baby? They obviously must have stolen it.” Someone snickered. Ah a racist. “So I tried to commit suicide last night. Won’t be doing that again anytime soon. I nearly fucking died.” A few smirks could be discerned through the smoke. So we have a couple of sadists. Of course.
“So I’ve been wondering if I actually satisfy my girlfriend during sex. She never moans.” A couple of stifled laughs escaped from the crowd. Good we have a few sharp tools as well. “When I was a kid I went to confession and told the priest in the box that I had sinned. He asked whether I was cheating on him.” A few embarrassed smiles winked into existence for a split second.
Grinning the comedian forged on. “The other day I got home and a buddy of mine had replaced all my Hentai Porn with Granny Porn.” He paused for a second. “Very Mature.” An old man spilt his drink as he tried to stifle a laugh. Hope flickered in the dark abyss.
Dropping the grin and adding a frown Pierre continued. “My Girlfriend reckons that a small penis shouldn’t affect our sex life.” The women in the bar all perked up and a couple even dared to smile openly. “Now she may be right.” He continued. “But I would prefer if she didn’t have one at all.” A big bearded oaf in the back roared with laughter breaking the awkward silence beyond repair.