The Show Continues

As the next act started, the host scuttled around through the crowd and approached your table.

“Hey,” he said to you and Gemma quietly. “Just so you know, heckling isn’t cool.”

“They approached us both times,” Gemma countered. “If they don’t want to take shit, they shouldn’t try to give shit.”

The host opened his mouth, but then frowned and nodded.

“Look, we’re just here to have a good time and support my roommate,” you said. “We’re not looking to start heckling.”

The host sighed. “Well, you’ve got two options. I can either move you to a new table and it’ll probably blow over, or if you two stay here it’s gonna become a thing. Benny up there doesn’t try to do crowd work, but a lot of the Open Mic performers try and fill time by practising crowd work even if they are shit at it. I guarantee they are already back there getting riled up by Corey and Julie, and we’ve got a couple of our semi-pro’s who won’t hold back.”

Gemma looked to you to see if you had an opinion. “I don’t care either way,” you said. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” Gemma smirked and turned to the host. “We’re fine where we are. We could use a waitress though. We’re going to need some beers if we’re going to do this right.”

“You got it, and your funeral,” the host shook his head with a wry grin.

By the time ‘Benny’ finished his lackluster spot, one of the waitresses had come over and taken your order.

The host got everyone to clap for Benny, and then told a couple of jokes that got more laughs than the first three acts put together, before introducing the next act.

And the host was right - this guy told about two minutes of minorly funny jokes, and then pivoted and started trying to engage you. He tried taking a shot at you for your job as an intern, which you pointed out you made more money in one summer than he would for a year of open mic. Then he tried to bash you for wanting to be a lawyer and you quipped that being a lawyer was a great way to learn to speak in public, and that maybe he should try some classes to figure out how to engage with an audience since you were all starting to fall asleep.

The next act came in hot, talking about young couples thinking they were hot shit but clearly they didn’t know anything because the divorce rate was skyrocketing. Then he asked Gemma if you were rich and she was a gold-digger, and warned you that you were going to be a statistic. Gemma asked how many times he’d been divorced, and that shut him up quickly.

The act after him was clearly the newest of all the wanna-be comedians who had been up so far. Each of his jokes he started with ‘So did you guys hear…?’ and he read a bunch of jokes about Australia off his phone. He got booed off stage, and you and Gemma didn’t even start it.

Then the Host introduced one of their ‘regular crowd favourites’, and you had to assume it was one of the semi-pros he had mentioned.

Oscar Benicio was a Hispanic guy who dressed up like an office worker, complete with a frumpy suit with a pocket protector and a ratty tie. He started his spot with gusto, and actually did start warming up the crowd, but you saw he kept glancing sideways at you and Gemma. When the waitress quietly circulating the room came to your table and you and Gemma started whispering your request for another pair of beers, he paced across the stage and cleared his throat into the mic. “Ahem. Children?”

You and Gemma turned to look at him, curious as to why he was interrupting something that everyone in the room was doing. You also heard the annoyed sigh of the waitress, who just wanted to take our order and get her tip.

“Children,” Oscar said again. “It’s rude to talk when someone else has the mic. Didn’t your parents teach you any better?”

You and Gemma glanced at each other, trying to decide who was going to take this one, and Oscar jumped on the hesitation. “That’s right, children. Behave, and maybe we’ll give you a sucker on your way out. People here paid for a show, not to listen to you talking.”

“Sorry, miss,” I said loudly to the waitress. “I guess we’re not allowed to order any drinks without upsetting wannabe George Lopez?”

“Hey, motherfucker,” Oscar said. “That’s fucking racist.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because you stole that second joke of yours from the third season of his show, or because you can’t actually think of anything funny to say?”

“What, hey, I didn’t steal any jokes!” Oscar fumed.

“Alright, dude,” you said. “Don’t freak out. Just go watch the show, I’m sure you just did it by accident.”

“What the fuck? Hey, security, get this punk out of here,” Oscar said.

The host, sighing and shaking his head, got up on stage and talked to Oscar, who shoved the mic into the host’s chest and stormed off.

“Did he really steal that joke?” the waitress asked you.

“I’ve got no idea,” you said. “I’ve never even seen an episode of the George Lopez show, but the way he got so pissed makes me wonder.”

Gemma laughed, and the waitress just rolled her eyes and took your order.

Tasha, the woman Mosche was interested in, was up next and she killed it, at least by the standard of the night so far. You and Gemma laughed supportively, which seemed to almost be like giving the rest of the room permission to laugh as well. Tasha obviously needed some more practice, but she was a solid entry for the night and you had to wonder if she was going to fall into the trap the others had. When she came over and sat on the edge of the stage next to you and Gemma, you got a little worried.

“Alright, so I’ve gotta ask,” she said, still holding the microphone. “Everyone backstage is fuming about ‘the blonde bimbo and the bean pole’ out here ruining the night. So blondie, I’ve got a question for you - he’s gotta be big, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Gemma said. “But that’s not why I’m with him. Just a happy surprise.”

“OK, but like, this big?” Tasha asked, holding the mic up and measuring with her hands.

“Bigger,” Gemma said.

“This big?” Tasha asked, moving her hands apart another inch.

Gemma just shook her head with a smile.

“This big?” Tasha asked, moving her hands another couple of inches.”

“That’s about right,” Gemma said.

“I don’t believe you,” Tasha said. “Girl, that kinda dick would end my life. There’s no way he’s that big.”

Gemma scooted her chair to the side and then reached into your lap, rubbing her hand down your cock and thigh until she was cupping the end, then she stretched your pants over it to show Tasha the outline.

“Holy shit, she’s not joking!” Tasha laughed. “She just showed me the outline of it in his pants, folks! God damn dude, if we hear about a girl murdered by clubbing tonight, we are all witnesses that you’re carrying a deadly object in your pants.”

Tasha pivoted, rounding out her ten minutes with a joke about her disappointment with her first ‘big dick’, which got some more laughs and light applause.

Mosche was next, and thankfully he didn’t eat shit and bomb. He wasn’t great either - Tasha was better than him already, to be honest, mostly due to her natural confidence - and thankfully he didn’t try and engage with you or Gemma.

The host announced an intermission, and you and Gemma stood up to stretch.

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