by Josh Luft
New opening bit: Who do we got out here tonight? Hold on a minute. Is that…? Is that the Road Warrior out there? Do we got Mad Max out in the audience this evening? Wait. No, that’s just Tina Turner’s weave from Beyond Thunderdome. (Start singing “We Don’t Need Another Hero” and try to get the audience to sing and clap along.) Segue into: How is Mel Gibson still racist? There’s only one skin color now — dirt — and he’s that color, too!
Did a show at an actual comedy club instead of some six-legged-rat-infested dump — must still be in use because of its basement location/surplus of booze they had on Doomsday — and opened for Joan Rivers! Joan: “I told ya, yalousy bastards! Me and the fucking roaches!” Talked awhile with her afterwards. Great lady. Made plans to do another show in a month or so. Traded her a ton of make-up for some canned fruit and booze. Knew that fucking make-up would come in handy!
Had a run-in with a pack of mutants today. Was checking out a forest a few miles from the Twin Cities. While walking down the path I thought I found something growing, either new life or something tough like a fuckin’ Phoenix rising out of this shithole. Nope. 2 ltr bottle of Mountain Dew. Went on and ended up finding a little cave with clean fresh water inside! Of course it also had a pack of mutants who came at me. I took a couple out — one and a half, really, since one of the fuckers had two heads and I only hit one — and made it back to the RV. Too close. Scared the hell out of me. Came up with a good bit though: What’s the deal with mutants? Have you seen these fuckin’ things? I know they’ve seen me. They’ve got four fuckin’ eyes for Christ’s sake! Speaking of Christ… It looks like he missed his appointment, huh? Or did he call Reception 24 hrs before the Flashes and say, “Hello, I have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow.” “Name, please.” “Jesus Christ. That’s C-H-R-I-S-T.” “Ah yes, Mr. Christ. We have you down for 10 a.m. tomorrow morning.” “Right, yes. I apologize but I am going to have to cancel that appointment and reschedule for a time after the Apocalypse.” “I’m sorry?” “I need to cancel for tomorrow and reschedule for after the Apocalypse.” “’Apocalypse’? Did you say ‘Apocalypse’?” “Yes.” “Jesus Christ!” “Yes?”
Did a set for what turned out to be a clan of cannibals tonight. I killed. Literally.
NOTE: Need more bullets.
Had Cormac and his wife and kid over tonight. Gave him a new shopping cart and tarp as a gag gift — his wife got the biggest kick out of it. He brought some venison jerky and we drained the rest of the Jack Daniels. Asked if I could use this joke at tomorrow night’s gig: “Had Cormac McCarthy and his boy over for dinner last night. They were delicious.” He fired back, “Well, sure. Nobody’ll be there anyway.”
The Girl was in the audience again — My #1 Fan. After the set I was having a drink with Joan and The Girl came up. Cuter than I thought — free from those damn generator lights. Expected her to ask questions, maybe an autograph. Wanted to barter a drink for her, take her back to the RV and listen to that “NOW! That’s What I Call Music!” CD I found the other night. Her question: “I saw you got a RV. Can I trade some meat, some chicken breasts, for some gas?” Joan cackled, “Honey, last time I offered breasts for gas, the guy farted in my face and told me they’d spoiled!” The girl didn’t laugh, probably hadn’t since before — Joan, of course, went nuts and bitched about her the rest of the night. I ran out to the RV and gave her a cou
ple of gallons. She left right after.
New bit: I was watching “I Am Legend” last night on DVD. (Pause.) What? No one here’s got a DVD player? What are you all, Blu-ray people? You look like a Blu-ray crowd. I say that mostly because of the guy in the back with the fuckin’ shirt made out of Blu-ray discs. It’s a good look for you though, buddy. I saw somebody at last night’s show with VHS tape pants. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that that look was so First-Six-Months-After-the-Apocalypse. She made a faux-pocalypse. (Pause.) I’ll wait for it. Anyway, I was watching “I Am Legend” on DVD last night and I thought, Boy, am I glad THAT creature ain’t around. You know, Will Smith. Then we’d REALLY be fucked.
Stumbled upon a bunker while taking a piss this morning. Some mangy kid popped out and nearly took off my fucking dick with a rusty machete. Once he cooled down, I found out he was all alone, living off cans of Chunky soup and flat cola. Decided to invite him aboard The Chuckle Express. It’s Thanksgiving, after all. Plus, I could use a new assistant…
Finally got to Denver and thank-fucking-Christ I booked some shows for the next week. They don’t want to laugh in Iowa, Nebraska or Wyoming but they do in the Rockies. Must be the lack of air.
NOTE: use this idea for a bit.
NOTE: CUT THIS BIT (or rework?) FROM THE SET — still too soon for ANY computer jokes apparently: I was looting this house last weekend. It was a small, cozy ranch-style number over near Sm — Shit. I might want to go back there this weekend. There’s some stuff left over. I’m not telling YOU fucking savages where it is. Christ. This lady (point at woman in front) started drooling as soon as I said ‘looting’. Save that spit, lady! I don’t know if you’re aware but we’re in a bit of a liquid crisis. So back to this house I was looting. Oh! There she goes again! Somebody get a jar! If she doesn’t want that water, I’ll trade it for a blow job in the next heap they still call a city! Alright, back to the house. I was on the second floor and I found a bookshelf. A full bookshelf. I know, right? As I was grabbing for the next few nights of fire, I noticed this one called The Joy of Cybersex. Anybody remember cybersex? You went online into chat rooms, made up some stupid name like “Luvs2Cuddle” or “CaptFingerBang16” and talked dirty to someone? Or even tried to meet people in real life only to find that you were about to fuck some woman with a giant mole on her face or some slimy pederast? Actually, let me go back a sec. Remember the Internet? Remember fucking computers? That turned out great, didn’t it? Hell, I thought everybody was just using them for porn. Like me. I guess if I hadn’t been in my basement jerking off I’d have known what was going on. I’d be dead, but I’d have known something other than what “BDSM” means before I went. Anyway, what I was trying to get at is, What’s the post-Apocalypse equivalent of cybersex? That’s what I started wondering before burning the book to heat another can of beans. Is there a backroom at the Swaps that I don’t know about? (Segue into Swaps bit — KEEP.)
Josh Luft is a Fool.
Photo by Rick Forgo, from Flickr.