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Epic Crash & Burn: Last Nights Keep it Clean Show @ The Public House
SLO FEST was awesome! San Luis Obispo is a great town with great food, people and drinks. The shows were all fun with great crowds, great venues and a great group of comics. Looking forward to doing it again next year
SLO COMEDY FESTIVAL UPDATES
SLO comedy festival after show drinks for Thursday night. Good times with some good comics….good God that was a lame ass caption. “good times…” who still says that? Ah, who cares? I’m not Hemmingway. Just trying to be clever at 11:35 in the AM after a night of drinking and only one cup of coffee…damn near impossible if you ask me…
7 Days in Vegas
This post was republished to 7 Days In Vegas at 1:50:04 PM 3/18/2010 7 Days in Vegas Day Two or Where The Fanny Packs Are: I woke up early. Too early. Apparently McNuggets + McFlurry = processed food alarm clock. So I was awake and I figured I’d check out the Buffet, maybe go to the fitness center and start my day off right. A week ago I hurt my arm playing football and had opted out of doing any workouts resulting in me feeling sloppy and out of shape. That is until I stood in line for the buffet. I felt fine about myself after that. I saw fanny packs buried in folds of back fat and love handles. Inside the World Buffet (They serve food from all across the globe!) the employee section is off to the right. Typical in hotels, keep the help out of site from the guests. This is where I sit since I am an entertainer. The lady at the comedy club gave me a little ID tag that says ENT #5. I have to show this to woman charging the entrance fee to all the guests. The food is…well the powdered eggs and French toast was pretty good and considering it was free I thought it tasted delicious. I didn’t make any friends but I had a book to read and sat by myself sipping my coffee while trying to make sure my ID tag was in a visible place at all times in case the natives got restless. Everyone who works at this hotel looks like they’ve been living rough. I finished up and wandered back to my room. Here are five things I noticed: 1. The Pool is still closed 2. Asians travel in huge groups 3. Even when you win at the Riviera, you’re still a loser 4. The night shift waitresses look like the older sisters of the day shift waitresses 5. An empty glass has been sitting in the hallway between the door to my room and the door next to me. It’s been there for over 24 hours. I’m wonder if it’s a mafia signal of some kind hit. Time to explore my surroundings and find out what people do during the day time in Las Vegas! I stepped out the front of the casino and had a choice to make; north or south. To the north I could see the mighty stratosphere rising high above the other buildings. I decided to head north. I was walking along the side walk. It’s sort of hot. I can’t imagine being here during the summer. In front of me is a short homeless man wrapped in a large camouflage jacket, wearing jeans with the ass torn off them. The jacket hung down so all you could see was back of his naked thighs which made it seem like he was wearing ass-less chaps. It was uncomfortable to watch. Unfortunately the sidewalk was narrow. Normally I could move past him with my longer stride but he had shifted into crack speed gear which allowed him to walk at the same speed I was walking and I couldn’t make a move without it looking like I was trying to avoid waking behind a homeless crack addict in ass-less chaps. I saw my break. The Sahara Casino appeared to my right and I made a quick duck inside. The Sahara is pretty nice. Obviously the theme is Middle Eastern but the inside looks the same as any other casino. The illusion really goes away quickly once you get inside these places. Inside there is still the din of winning slot machines, the people are still over weight and fanny packed and the staff all look like refugees dressed in clothes donated from the Rat Pack fifty years ago. Wandering the vast casino floor I spotted something funny. I saw several girls playing one slot machine over and over again. The slot machine was a “Sex in the City” slot machine. When you win or lose you got a recorded sound clip from one of the characters. Something about shoes or cosmos followed by a sassy sexual reference. I left the Sahara and continued north on Las Vegas Blvd when I came across what clearly had to be the main attraction at the north end of Vegas:
That’s a bold assertion to make without displaying any proof. How do I know this is the largest gift shop in the world? Where is the documentation? Are you listed by Guinness in of their books? I suspect a tourist scam. I’ve noticed everything in Las Vegas is “worlds largest” or “America’s Best” or “Las Vegas’ top rated comedy club”…I’m not bitter. My favorite part is the advertised “Live Cactus” on the sign! Unfortunately I could not find any living (or dead) cacti inside the store. I did however find a lot of other things you could waste their money on. Everything is Las Vegas themed from the famous sign to Elvis to wall after wall of hilarious naughty t-shirts! FBI: Female Body Inspector! I’m a Lesbian Trapped in a Man’s Body! MR. Right…Mr. Right Now! I could go on but I might throw up. All were in the XL to XXXL range. Here are some other things I saw: A collection of douche girl hats! No cacti but LOADS of artifacts from ancient Egypt…or the Luxor Casino…not sure which. I left the worlds largest gift shop empty handed except for a finger nail clipper. Just a regular $1.19 finger nail clipper. I needed one. I headed back towards my hotel. It was getting late in the afternoon, I was hot and sweaty from being pale and outside. I had had all I could handle of the north end of Las Vegas Boulevard. So far Las Vegas seemed to be filled with lame shops, awful casinos and terribly fat and boring people who don’t find me all that funny. I walked back behind three young guys carrying tall plastic cups filled with a fruity alcoholic beverage. They were aggressively talking about having to take on the Stratosphere, sticking there hand up someone’s ass followed by a round of fist bumping and the phrase “Let’s do this”. Don’t know if these things are all connected but I do know it made me and the family with the three young children very uncomfortable. I got back to my hotel, took a quick shower and got ready for the second night of shows. I wasn’t looking forward to it really. I had already been told my set was “too dirty” and frankly if the crowds think I’m too dirty odds are they’re not going to laugh at the stuff that isn’t “dirty”. So I drudged up to the club expecting to get an earful from the comedy expert lady who runs the show. But she wasn’t there. A short haired older lady was running things and she looked like she could care less. I said hello and waited for the audience to arrive. The other two comics came in about five minutes before show time. The crowd was small for the first show, just like the other night. This might be a theme. So I went up, set went fine. Cut out the “dirty” stuff and tried to talk with the audience a little more, make some casino references. The second show filled up nicely. About 150 people came out. And they were a pretty good audience. The shows ended smoothly. I decided I would head out and see what the night was like. This time I would go south! SOUTH: As I stepped out into the night a girl and her mom waved at me and told me they thought I was the best comic of the night. That was very nice of them to say that. The girl said my vampire joke was her favorite. Mine too. South is a walk. A long walk to get to anything that’s worth getting to. But once you do, I discovered, a whole new Las Vegas opens up to you. As I marched down Las Vegas Boulevard the tall towers of the Wynn, the Palazzo, the Encore and the Venetian rise mightily above the strip. From the street they appear much closer than they actually are and it wasn’t for another half mile did I finally come to the entrance of the Wynn. The inside of the Wynn looks as if a tan and red Fez cap threw up on itself and then exploded. I walked past the expensive shops selling designer jewelry and purses and wandered right out onto the casino floor…something was strange. The people…the people were smiling. The people were wearing clothes that fit. The people were young, successful. The people were good looking. Holy shit! Not a fanny pack in sight! It’s as if the casino has some sort of standing rule against them. Oh my God I just saw a hot waitress! Her face is soft and full. It’s not weighed down by make up and sadness. Her breasts! Oh her beautiful breasts seemed to be full light, happiness and expensive saline! Where as at the Riviera all the tits seemed filled with cigarette smoke and regret. At the Wynn the dealers are all wearing nice suits. Really, really nice suits with really nice ties. They look like a GQ ad for bankers. The bars were filled with happy people smoking nice cigars and sipping on expensive drinks. Everyone was smiling. Everyone had all their teeth. Except for one guy but no one was talking to him. I headed back home to the north end. I felt depressed as I walked back leaving behind the Las Vegas I’ve always heard tell of. I past construction sites and open trenches along the darkened sidewalk. A scary man asked if I wanted to go to a strip club outside the saddest Denny’s in the word. I walked past the entrance to the Riviera food court…a food court. The Wynn doesn’t have a food court. They have fine dining. In the Wynn you take your winnings to the cashier. At my place it’s called The Cage. At the Wynn people shouted with joy as they won at craps. At my hotel people only win at the Penny Town Slot Machine. I felt like an abused child who got to see what a happy family in a nice home is like for a few short hours and now must return to the trailer park with the alcoholic father and pain killer addicted mother that is the Riviera Hotel and Casino.
7 Days in Vegas
7 Days in Vegas Day 1: The drive out was easy. Usually not the case when one drives from Los Angeles to sin city. But only comedians, entertainers and old folk travel to Vegas on a Monday. My drive was made easier with the help of my favorite podcasts playing off my iPod. My current podcast suggestions are as follows: 1. WTF w/ Marc Maron 2. The Bugle w/ Jon Oliver 3. Monday Morning Podcast w/ Bill Burr 4. Comedy and Everything Else w/ Jimmy Dore 5. David Feldman Comedy Podcast w/ David Feldman 6. NPR’s Fresh Air Marc Maron’s WTF has quickly taken over as my favorite podcast. That guy is just really good at talking. Highly recommended for road trips, work commutes and mental escapes from the hellish reality that is your life.
As my drive continued there really wasn’t much to do other than not crash your car. I-15 is pretty boring stretch of interstate freeway. On either side is desolation or the occasional neighborhood of identical suburban houses. What they are a suburb of I couldn’t tell you as I drove further and further away from civilization. Around 1pm I needed some lunch and pulled off in Baker, California. Baker is the “Gateway to Death Valley”. It says so at the bottom of a giant thermometer that you can see from the freeway. I had a choice of several restaurants and decided on Bob’s Big Boy. I thought this was just a well known burger joint like In-n-Out or Fat Burger. But this one was a sit down restaurant. It was terrible. As a rule you should never go into a diner style restaurant and try to order fancy. I went with the thinly sliced turkey on Chibatta bread. It’s a burger joint. I should have listened to my gut, both before and after the meal. I should have gotten a burger. I got back on the road and after a quick two hours I was driving into Las Vegas. During the dark ages practitioners of black magic were feared and killed on sight. In Las Vegas they get a theatre, a suite and miles of I-15 advertising space. That’s when you realize you are close to Vegas. Giant billboards of creepy magicians and forgotten country stars pop out of the desert terrain like wild cacti. Then, on the horizon, you see a gathering of buildings that history and geography tell you should never go together. A pyramid, the Eifel Tower, the New York Skyline and a castle have no business sharing the same horizon but in Vegas it’s business that they all share. But I drove past these newer luxury novelties for my destination was at the far, forgotten end of Las Vegas Boulevard.
The Riviera is an old resort casino. Back in the hay day of Vegas it was a premiere destination. But the glory days have faded much like the multi colored carpet of the hotel lobby. Designed in a bygone era when the standard of luxury was defined by how much brass, fake black marble and low ceilings you could cram into a building, the Riviera made me sad. I pulled into the drive, not sure what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to drive below ground into a garage lit by red neon lights. I stopped in the valet line expecting a quick footed valet to open my door and welcome me. What I got was a two minute wait as a man with a moustache hobbled over from his corner hang out to hand me a ticket. “Just leave the keys in. I’ll get it later” He said. Then he hobbled back to his corner. I grabbed my two pieces of luggage and moved towards the entrance. The entrance is actually below the lobby. What greets you are a set of elevator doors (brass) and two heavyset men dressed as bellmen who try hard not to acknowledge you exist. “Hi fellah’s,” I said. One looked at me, frightened, the other mumbled hello while staring at the ground. It was as if both realized at the same time that neither possessed the power of invisibility. I checked in and made my way up to my room in the South Tower. My view over looks the roof of the casino and beyond it you can see Circus Circus across the street. Its building is shaped like a massive big top tent and a gigantic clown rises above the casino, pointing demonically at the entrance while in the other hand it grasps a massive lollypop. I’m not sure what the subtext is telling me. It was nearly six thirty by the time I got settled so I did a quick walk around the resort. I noted the following: 1. The Pool is closed. 2. The toilet in my room looks like it was stolen from a dive bar in Bakersfield. 3. Everyone looks terrible under the lights of the Casino. 4. There should be a cut off age for outfits cocktail waitresses wear. 5. Fat girls love to dance.
THE SHOW: Night One I was pretty excited to perform in Las Vegas. This is a step forward in my comedy career. I don’t do the road all that much because I’m based in LA. The industry is there and since I’m also a writer and actor, going on the road never really appealed to me all that much. But getting a gig in Vegas is a kind of a big deal. It’s not that far away and the pay is usually really good for the amount of work you are doing. The Comedy Club at the Riviera is much like the rest of the hotel. It’s seen its hay day and boasts that it was the #1 Comedy Club in Las Vegas six years in a row. On the website there is a promo video that plays. In the back ground late eighties generic pop music plays and the comics they showcase, with the exception of Dom Ierra, haven’t been on the scene in a long time if they ever were. When I arrived at the club I realized why. This club was #1 about twelve years ago. You can tell because none of the framed headshots of the featured acts are in color. On the billboard outside the club are photos of this weeks act. Aside from my own picture, the other two comics still have black and white headshots. That means they’re done. They may be on the road, performing all year but they aren’t trying to move their careers any further. This is as far as they’re getting. The crowd started showing up. One of the things I found odd about the club (and Vegas as a whole) is the attempt to dress the place up. All the employees wear outfits and uniforms that harken back to Sinatra’s Vegas. To the early 1960’s when Vegas was a destination for Americans and mobsters to escape to. At the club the doormen and floor manager wear all black tuxedo style suites. The hotel staff is dressed similarly. But the crowd coming in wear baggy Midwestern sweatshirts and horrible mom jeans, topped with fanny packs. It looks odd, these tuxedo dressed doormen taking tickets from people who look like they spent the day at the Mall of America. The promo for the club advertises “Extreme Comedy Performances: Hypnotist, Magicians and Shock Comedians”. None of this would turn out to be true. The first show was slow. About thirty people, most of them grey haired and bent. I came up and did my ten minutes. I ran through one version of my set just to get a feel for the crowds. They would laugh at strange things. When a premise was introduced you would hear gasps or laughs as if that were the punch line. I got through it. Not all of my material went over great but I got them laughing, which as the host, is the most important thing. I got off for the first comic. The headliner shook my hand and said, “The bar has been set.” I took this to mean that he would have to work hard to out do me. A nice compliment. I won’t comment on the other comedians performances. Who the hell am I and not being familiar with the Las Vegas circuit I am hardly a good judge. That said, when you listen to (not watch) the promo and hear how the club describes its performers and then go see the show, nothing could be further from the truth. The 8:30 show finished up. I wondered over to the bartender and got a beer. He was an interesting guy who had clearly been there for years. He had small grey eyes behind large round glasses that sat above an ‘80’s moustache. Like the club and the casino he had seen his hay days too. He asked me how I liked performing here. I gave him my automatic smile and polite answer, “It’s great. I’m really excited to be here.” “How many shows you doing?” He asked looking over his glasses. “Two a night for seven days.” I said. “Thirteen more to go. We’ll see how you feel at the end of the week.” He laughed as he walked away. “Enjoy the buffet!” “Anything in there I should stay away from?” “Yeah, all things creamy.” He disappeared down the hallway. Foreboding crept over me. This week may be harder than I thought. The 10pm show was looking good, the crowd promising to be even busier with 90 people. Not bad for a Monday I was told. So I go up and do my act. Cut out a few things and spent a little more time talking with the audience. It went well, I got them excited and laughing. I got off stage and was told by the floor manager that my act was too dirty. This struck me as odd since I’m not dirty at all. Subject matter may be sexual but it has a point to it and I don’t curse that much. Also we’re next door to a world famous nude review. I mean this crowd basically didn’t get tickets to the titty show going on one door down. Not to mention the club advertises as “Extreme Comedy” with “Shock Comedians”! So a few fanny packs got upset, the rest of the audience laughed. This is Sin City right? Anyway, my confidence took a gut punch. I was feeling okay but lousy at the same time. The show finished. The other two comics split. They were over the whole “Lets hang out and grab a drink” thing. So I was left to my own devices. I was tired and annoyed at the sounds of slot machines and the smell of cigarettes. And this was night one! I’m so screwed. I hadn’t eaten and everything at the hotel was closed that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. So I wondered down Las Vegas Boulevard and settled on McDonalds. Across the street is a huge McDonalds with four jumbo screens on its front advertising its burgers. Seems unnecessary for McDonalds to need four jumbo-trons to advertise their burgers when you consider it’s the most popular fast food restaurant in the world. That said I got a McNugget meal and a McFlurry. Everything is okay after you’ve had a McFlurry.
I’m SLO!
I’ll be at the San Louis Obispo Comedy Festival February 24th thru 27th! Here is the website for more information!
PERFORMING SCHEDULE!
8/13 M Bar
My Stories from the Literally Funny Shows
Dance Fight! I found myself at a swanky Hollywood club one night. My commercial agent had decided to throw a party for one reason or another. My commercial agency was actually a modeling agency that had a commercial department. Most of their clients were good looking people, working models who earned a living posing for pictures in designer clothes or no clothes at all. The commercial department was made up mostly of goofy comedic actors. Let’s just say it was pretty easy to tell who the commercial actors were at this gathering. This was the kind of club that’s filled with uncomfortably modern furniture and the only beer they serve is Heineken. One of those places that have a guest list, velvet ropes and you’re not allowed to sit down unless you buy an overpriced bottle of Vodka. Every time I tried to sit down a massive bouncer in black would come by waving a flashlight in my face, motioning for me to get up and leave. He never spoke a word to me. He would just flash his light in Bouncer Morse Code telling me to move along. The DJ, which apparently is a hipster in skinny jeans with a bad haircut playing the shuffle option on his iTunes, stood in a booth above the bar. The dance floor was filled with beautiful, bouncing women while a few Kevin Federline lookalikes sporting vests, five O’clock shadows and fedoras, stood by groping with their eyes. I stood amongst a cluster of my goofy comedic commercial actor brethren, too nervous to talk with anyone outside our department. It was like a grown up version of a junior high dance, nerds in the corner watching the pretty people move to the music. Suddenly, on the dance floor a space opened up before me and there I saw a sight I had only heard tale of in bad coming of age movies set in the inner city. Two men …dance fighting! I’m not sure what their sexual preference was, but by relying solely on stereotypes I concluded that the designer jeans these men were wearing were too tight for the most effeminate of straight men and/or European. And by the bedazzled denim jackets they both wore I deduced that these boys were at this club just to dance. The horrific scene played out almost in slow motion. Each “combatant” took turns dancing for anywhere from ten to thirty seconds, completing elaborate twists, spins and flips to the music. Each move was served in the other fighter’s face, much to the delight of the crowd of dancing models. The first dancer spun and twisted, light glittering off his one diamond earring. He finished with a pelvic thrust directed at his opponent, while lying sprawled upon the dance floor. The other dancer paced back and forth, shaking his hands at his opponent as if to say, “Nah, man. That ain’t cool.” He leaped over the head of his opponent landing on his hands, pushing himself up from the floor into a handstand, all to the rhythm of the techno house music blasting from DJ Silverlake’s iMac. He pushed himself up and down, up and down and suddenly shifted to his shoulders spinning out of the handstand and finishing in a model’s pose with his left hand under his head, his elbow propping up his body in a leisurely fashion. Even the commercial actors were cheering, awkwardly bouncing out of sync with the music. Dancer One didn’t waste a beat and danced a two step until he found the right time in the music to jump back into the fight. He went classic 80’s break-dance starting with a robot freeze, a hand glide, two knee-spins, a back flip into a moon walk and ending with a crab walk pelvic thrust at the other fighter as if to say, “you just got served” “In yo face” and “Yo Momma’s so fat” with each push of his groin. And with that the dance fight was over. Just as the victor claimed his win, and the loser conceded defeat by congratulatory bro hugging Dancer One, silent bouncers with flashlights broke up the crowd and the combatants. The music changed to another mindless techno beat and the beautiful people went back to dancing, the fight forgettable as the last song played. But not to me. I walked away with the knowledge that not only was dance fighting real, but that it’s also incredibly gay.
My Stories from the Literally Funny Shows
Lesbian Lust: True Tales of Real Lesbian Lust Volume 1 By Dave Hanson A normal day at the Hotel I worked at began sharply at seven AM. My primary job as a front desk associate working the 7am to 3pm shift was to check guests out of the hotel from behind a long white marble counter while wearing a uniform baggy beige suit that robbed all staff members of their gender identity. The hotel itself was a one time posh palace of modern design on the sunset strip. It was filled with cube shaped furniture and wide open spaces. It reeked of pretention while avoiding comfort. When it opened years back it was the toast of the town with it’s out door poolside night club, a fancy fusion restaurant complete with a 2 month waiting list and most of the rooms were occupied by the rich and currently famous. But these days the hotel was filled to the brim with losers who loved to wear glittery sunglasses in doors and the occasional down and out celebrity who was trolling the lobby for fans, like a fat guy at a donut shop, trying to make himself feel happy again. And so I stood my watch, feeling as much excitement as my beige jacket allowed me to feel while checking out rich douche bags who couldn’t understand why they had to pay $18 dollars for parking their car over night. To be honest I couldn’t understand it either. But my job was not reason why, mine was to do and get paid a minimum wage for smiling at some Von Dutch asshole even when he threatens to fight me over an $18 dollar valet charge to his room that he made the night before when he had enough cocaine in his blood to believe he was God. Most days, after the old guests had all checked out and the cleaning staff, made up entirely of illegal elderly Hispanic women, were desperately trying to clean seven floors of dirty rooms in time for this days check-ins a few people would arrive early and request an early check in. And by request I mean demand they be allowed to check in early because they wore glittery sunglasses in doors. Around 2pm a group of four women arrived and there was something…different about them. They were dressed nicely. Like business women visiting town for a convention or important sales meeting. They were all in their mid to late forties and attractive, with a playful spirit about them. Maybe that was what was strange. They were playful. Most business people weren’t very playful, at least not at check in. They were usually still decompressing from the plane trip or had a late meeting to prepare for as soon as they got into their room. “We’d like to check in.” The tallest of the women said. She had shoulder length red hair and was trim with long legs covered by a well fitted black pant suit. Her friends were dressed the same. “Okay,” I replied with annoyed interest. “Do you have a reservation?” “No.” She said. I looked up. The playfulness was gone as all four women stared me down. I felt weird, uncomfortable so I turned my face down to my computer screen. This was unusual but happened from time to time. No reservations were usually the result of a spur of the moment idea. A guy trying to seal the deal with a chick he met at the fancy bar outside or a canceled flight leaving a traveler stranded and desperate for our worst room. But there was something weird about these women. “Ok…well, check in isn’t until three” I told them. “But I do have a room available now. Our rate is $325 a night…” “We’ll take it.” It was the blonde in back. She had short cropped hair like professional mom from the Midwest. She was shorter than the other women with a petite body that looked to be in good shape underneath her navy blue power suit. “I just need a credit card and ID…” Red tossed a gold American Express down at me and I started putting their information. While I slowly typed I tried to figure what it was about them that was so strange, different…queer. They were flirty, like most professional women in their forties. Probably unmarried and into young dudes I thought. But they weren’t flirty with me. They were hostile, like they didn’t like me. But they were flirty with…each other. Weird. What is that? The brunette, who has a foreign accent is giggly with the long haired blonde who didn’t talk. She’s playing with her hair. And Red head can’t stop looking at the other blonde accept when she is looking at the brunette. And now they’re looking at me. Nope. They’re glaring at me. Am I taking to long? “Are you done yet?” Red asked. That’s when I realized I hadn’t done anything yet. I had been staring the whole time with a pained but perplexed look on my face. “Almost” I quickly recovered, ran the card and had her sign her name to the room. “Is there anyway we can rent this room by the hour rather than the whole night?” The foreign brunette asked me. Her voice sounded Parisian maybe. I almost cracked a joke at this weird question. By the hour? Lady you’re on the wrong end of sunset blvd if your looking for hourly rooms. “No,” I said with a polite four star hotel answer. “We only rent for the whole night.” She quickly turned her attention back to the other ladies while I pondered such a strange request from a business woman. At this point the Bellman, Jason, had come up with their bags on a cart. Jason, although dressed in the same non sexual baige jacket as I, was a good looking guy and usually a group of playful older women meant a big tip, an ass grab and probably some phone numbers for him. Older women were good business for the all male bell staff. But they paid him no mind. Even his chiseled jaw and floppy black hair got nary a notice from the four women. Something was up…these women were strange. They ignored Jason and looked at me with the contempt one would show a troll. It was like they had no sexual interest in me or Jason at all almost as if they were… LESBIANS! They were just getting onto elevator. I had to act fast. I ran to the back office where the pages sat. It all made sense. The flirting with each other, the need for a room by the hour, the way they despised me for owning a penis. The penis they wish they had to use on each other! They were Lesbians! But not just lesbians. They were some awesome lesbian cult. Lesbian business women who have no time for relationships but only time for quick orgies in expensive hotels! This was awesome! The pages had radios so they could talk to the bellmen in case there was something wrong with the room or if a package needed to be taken up to a guest. And all the bellman wore ear pieces like secret service so you could talk to them without disturbing the guests with loud inaudible radio chatter. I grabbed the radio. “Jason! Jason!” “Go for Jason” “Hey its Dave! Are you with those ladies still?!” “Yeah.” “Do me a favor. After you drop them off, leave for ten minutes, then go back and listen by the door. And tell me what you hear!” “Ok.” Bellman had no problem doing nothing for ten minutes. And if I put the pieces to the lesbian puzzle that means Jason was aware of it the moment he saw these women. I went back to the front desk and tried not to think about it. Unbelievable. Real live lesbians. Not angry protesting lesbians. Hot lesbians. But real ones. Not girls at a bar trying to impress a bunch of dudes by kissing. Honest to God lesbians! That’s unbelievable. That means I’ll have good luck or something. I wonder how they do it…is it like in porn movies or do real lesbians do something else. Because you can’t trust porn. Its biased towards dudes. Do they get totally naked? Maybe they don’t have time. Probably just shirts on pants off action. Do they get nervous? Do they have to get drunk before hand? Is it just foreplay or just a little like normal? Do they talk about emotions or is it straight to business? Probably straight to business because real lesbians are more like dudes in that way I think. I just don’t know… “Dave?” It was Juan the page. “Yeah.” “Jason is on the radio for you.” “Ok!” I ran back to the office. “Go for Dave.” I said into the radio. Jason responded right away. “Dude. Its on. Get up here.” “Ho..ly… shit!” and I ran. I ran to the elevators. One was out of service and the other was slow and no matter how many times I tapped the button it wouldn’t move any faster. Fuck this. There are lesbians up there! I made a mad dash for the stairwell flinging the door open and bounding up the cement stairs two sometimes three at a time. Lesbians…Lesbians…Lesbians is what I kept saying to myself. I had put them on the sixth floor, why God I do not know, but by the time I reached the door I was sweating and out of breath having just covered six flights of stairs in about sixty seconds. I looked down the hall. Jason stood by the last door at the far end next to the other stairwell. He was listening but now he saw me and signaled me to come down. I could hear them. Holy shit I could hear them. Moaning. At least one, probably the foreigner…no, now there were two lesbians moaning in pure lesbian pleasure! And then there was laughter on top of it, then more moaning. A scream! A climatic orgasmic scream carried down the hallway, bouncing off the walls and right into my ears. It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard in all my life! I got to Jason. He was signaling me to be quiet. But I was too out of breath. I couldn’t get enough air in and I kept huffing and puffing. But I tried. This was serious. I tried to slow down my breathing but I felt like I should giggle. I was like a little kid hearing something naughty I wasn’t supposed to hear. You could still hear the moaning, the talking, the laughter and more moaning. All four of them must be going at it at once. This was amazing. As I neared the door to get a better listen everything felt fuzzy. Soft and fuzzy and faded and then black. When I opened my eyes I was laying in a stairwell and Jason was looking over me gently slapping me in the face. “What happened…” “Shh!” Jason whispered. Just then I heard a door slam shut somewhere beyond the stairwell. “You fainted” Jason said. “You fainted and your head slammed against their door. I had to drag you in here just before they opened the door to see what the noise was.” A combination of being out of breath and wanting to giggle made me hyper ventilate and pass out. I had a headache and a red spot where my forehead had slammed against the door. But I didn’t care. I heard lesbians have sex this day. A day I would never forget. |
Epic Crash and Burn: Last night at the Keep it Clean Show at Public House an amazing disaster became the most entertaining night I’ve seen in awhile. My set was not amazing. I was up early and had a to deal with a group of horrible Green Peacers who decided to sit in the front row and talk during my whole set. And I thought these people were annoying on street corners (credit Davey Johnson for that line). Next time I see a Green Peace activist I’m going to let them start their sales pitch and then talk to a friend next to me during the whole thing. I got off easy as it turns out. Cut to Mr. Sean Green who nearly got into a fight with not 1 but 2 drunk patrons! 
Last night was great. A show at the Z Club in San Louis Obispo. More shows through out the weekend. And it looks like every night we’ll be drinking at The Kilt after the shows.