I was emceeing the first show of three last weekend. I need a little prep time for myself, but one part of emceeing is finding out who is on the show. That usually helps. Neither comic was anywhere to be found, which adds a tinge of anxiety, but I can BS my way through an intro, so no big deal. It was a sold out crowd and the place was buzzing. It was a good start to the evening.
I hit the end of my set and was closing on a joke/story about a mentally handicapped man shaking his penis at me. I suddenly noticed the staff was putting their hands together, then spreading them apart wider. Ah, messing with the emcee! Trying to make me laugh with penis hand motions! You no good, dirty…oh wait, another one is tapping his watch. Keep it going. I was about 15 seconds from wrapping it up when I realized I needed to keep plugging. Thankfully, I had a lot of stage time that week, so it was no big deal, but there was a lovely six to eight seconds of holy shit, I was not ready for that.
That’s the rough life of world famous comedy star like me. Whatever my fans need, I give it back! Actually, no one would remember my name either way. That’s the fun of being of comic. It could be worse. I could be a mime. No one likes mimes.