Not a Fan of Intoxicated Hookers (okay with sober ones)

My girlfriend and I attended a Comedy Central taping of Live at Gotham a month ago to support a few friends.**

In the world of comedy, your first Comedy Central debut is a milestone in an unpredictable career choice. I liken it to an Associate’s Degree (perhaps even a certificate from DeVry or commercial driver’s license from a truck driving school).

A Half-Hour Comedy Central’s Presents would be your Bachelor’s, a Conan, Kimmel or Ferguson your acceptance into a graduate program, a Letterman or Leno being your Master’s and your own special on HBO representing your thesis that enables you to obtain your Doctorate. Essentially, a Ph. D in funny. I was going to wedge in another analogy about the various festivals (Montreal, Aspen, Edinburgh, and Melbourne) but I think I’ve bored myself with the over usage of metaphors, allegories, similes and analogies (I can never tell which are which).

Anyways, I digress. Regardless, I was very proud of my friends performing that night. Each one had worked very hard to get to that point.

Unfortunately, some drunk escort/hooker/bitch woman with a creepy, old, rich dude and a bottle of $300 champagne ruined it for us.

My friend had the last and most difficult spot and was killing but the hookerslut kept slurring, “He’s not funny. This sucks. I can’t believe they
let him perform.”

(Note: She was high-five-ing her sugar daddy when the host** was shitting out his crowd-pleasing, misogynistic jokes).

The Gotham staff had already approached her twice and were keeping an
eye on her but they didn’t want to cause a scene.

To retaliate without making a scene and disrupting my friend’s set, we did the most childish and passive-borderline-psycho-aggressive act. For the record, it was initiated by my girlfriend which was extremely uncharacteristic of her. She strategically tipped over my unfinished Heineken with the intention of soaking the overdone-airbrushed-Glamour Shot in the mall-feather-boa-wearing-back-flab-trying-to-escape-satin-dress-hooker’s expensive purse that was covered with feathers (probably from an endangered species). However, the pool of beer wasn’t moving as fast as we wanted. So I ever so slightly lifted the table at one end to create an angle allowing gravity to create enough force for the puddle of beer to over come the static friction of the table (I believe physicists would call that coefficient μ or mu) to pull the fluid toward trainwreck’s purse.

It was exhilarating. We felt giddy. Since it was torrentially raining, freezing, windy and she was wearing a skimpy, slutty dress, I took their umbrella and placed it six tables over as we left.

Fuck her, don’t mess with my friend’s careers.

**Names withheld to protect their identities