Sleepwalk With Me_ And Other Painfully True Stories - Mike Birbiglia [10]
So now, thoroughly intimidated by the headshots of Katherine Clousterbom and Ted Finklestein and his red puppet Fiddlesticks, I’m whisked backstage—backstage being the sidewalk of a strip mall. I’m scared to death because they’ve agreed to give me fifty dollars for thirty minutes of comedy. And I know that I do not have that.
I ask Matt Marcus, the comedian I’m opening for, “Hey, what happens if I run out of material?”
“Just make fun of people.”
I say, “I don’t know if that’s going to go so well. Whenever I do that, people punch me in the face.”
“You’re the one with the microphone.”
I don’t understand. Am I supposed to hit people with the microphone if they try to punch me?
I’ve discovered since then that making fun of audience members is an entire genre of comedy. Comedians have entire acts that consist of pointed nuggets like, “Nice shirt, faggot!” To which the people around that gay-shirted audience member reply, “It’s so true! His shirt does suck! This guy’s a genius!”
I’m standing on the sidewalk, holding a 3x5 index card with five bullet points. I’m desperately trying to figure out how I’m going to stretch this into thirty minutes. It says: “Stick Insects. Cookie Monster. A-Team. Teletubbies. Millionaire. Slash.”
This was the material:
Stick insects
I’d hate to be a stick insect because all the other insects are always bumping into you because they don’t know you’re there, and you have to be like, “Watch it.” And they’re like, “Yeah, you look like a stick.” And you’re like, “I have eyes.” And they’re like, “Yeah. They were closed.”
So that’s stick insects. That’ll last three to five minutes.
Cookie Monster
I’m not sure if Cookie Monster is a great role model for kids. I mean, do you think this guy might have an eating disorder? He only eats cookies, and the back of his throat is sewn up. The cookies just kind of fall off his face. Who is that guy kidding?
That’s the whole joke, there. That’s gotta take up about five minutes.
A-Team
I love that show The A-Team, but sometimes I get the sense that they weren’t really trying. If you’re on the run from the law, you might want to go easy on the gold chains and feathers. Maybe take the red stripe off the van . . . Just a couple of ideas.
We’re probably somewhere past twenty minutes now.
Teletubbies
I just read that Jerry Falwell was upset because he thinks the Teletubby Tinky-Winky is gay. And I’m like, “Which one isn’t gay? Is it Dipsy or Laa-Laa?” Like, “I think Dipsy and Laa-Laa are definitely heterosexual, living in the Midwest, starting a family, etc., but I have a feeling about that Tinky-Winky.”
Nearing twenty-five minutes, I think. Is there time to squeeze in a few last bits?
Slash
I was watching the show Politically Incorrect and the musician Slash was on and he was complaining that there was too much violence on television. His name . . . is Slash.
I’m staring at my notecard and it’s dawning on me, this is definitely not thirty minutes. And then the manager opens the door and says, “Mike, go.” I turn around and throw up on the sidewalk. It’s like my body can’t take it and is like, What do we do? Let’s get rid of some food!
I walk through the door. And the guy on the loudspeaker says, “Please welcome Mike . . . Ba . . . hooski!” which is really not even close to my name. I’m so mad. I think, You didn’t even try. You just said B and then whatever you could think of and you made me Polish and that’s a really specific choice. I stand on stage and perform four minutes of comedy to complete silence. It’s almost as if these people haven’t watched Sesame Street, Teletubbies, or The A-Team in years.
I walk off stage and apologize to the audience under my breath. The manager calls me into his office. And I’m so nervous. It’s just me and this strange man in his office the size of a telephone booth and I fear the worst: Does he have a gun? Is he going to punch me?
He doesn