90 lines
3.5 KiB
Plaintext
90 lines
3.5 KiB
Plaintext
"That wasn't funny." A voice raised out above the crowd.
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# OctoThorpe Productions Title: "Stage Comic" By: The Cruiser Date: 8/16/87
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Dammit. What kind of people hung out at this bar? I wish I hadn't fired
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my agent. The places he got for me were good. But no, I got some good nights
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and a spot on tv, so I had to act real hard-assed and fire the guy. What got
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into me? Hmm... I better smile. Here, I'll hit 'em with one of my better ones.
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Gilbert stood straight, and a smile formed across his mouth as he stood on
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the stage of a small, inconspicuous bar near New Orleans. The sign outside
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read: Comic Shooter Bar & Grill.
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INNOCENT ENOUGH NAME, he had thought when he had first made reservations.
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But the crowd greeted him with a less-than-cordial attitude.
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"Hey, you know, just the other day I was downtown when this lady came up
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to me and asked me if I wanted to buy her pit bull.."
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He looked at the crowd before giving his punch line. No one stirred. He
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saw a waitress giving a stocky man a second helping of Cajun Soup. She gave
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him a funny looking stare, and her cold smile sent chills down his spine.
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"...and when I asked her why she was selling it, she said, 'I need the
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money to pay for my leg amputation!' "
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Silence.
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The silence was almost deafening. Gilbert felt his blood level raise a
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step higher.
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WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? LAUGH! LAUGH! LAUGH, GODAMMIT!
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He saw the owner look at him behind the stage. His face did not have a
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very happy look on it. Walking out onto the stage, he addressed the crowd,
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"Well, folks, what do you say we give em ONE MORE CHANCE?"
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Something in the way he said that chilled Gilbert. ONE MORE CHANCE? I
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WAS A DAMN HIT EVERYWHERE ELSE I WENT! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
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Another spectator made a comment. "Hurry up, we don't have all night!"
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Laughter.
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"Good one, Rube!" Someone else in the crowd commented him. It looked
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like all the people here knew each other! And it WAS kind of funny how the
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sign on the door said RESERVATIONS ONLY - CALL FIRST when it was a 200-capacity
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bar and there were only about 50 people inside. It's location was bad, too.
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Right in the middle of nowhere. Louisiana swamplands. Hicktown, U.S.A.
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SHIT. WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING ABOUT? LEMME TRY TO MAKE THESE PEOPLE
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LAUGH.
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He said to the crowd, "You know those guys that work in the Senate filming
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the Iran - Contra hearings?"
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He stopped and looked at what the owner, behind stage, had in his hands.
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A SHOTGUN.
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His face turned pale, as he remembered the name of the place.
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COMIC SHOOTER BAR AND GRILL.
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OHMYGOD! THIS CAN'T BE TRUE! GIL' BOY, WHAT'S HAPPENING TO YOU? THIS IS
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SOME KIND OF JOKE! THEY JUST CAN'T DO THINGS LIKE THIS!
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"....well, they, uh, look like a bunch..." His mind was not on the joke,
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as he saw wide smiles on everyone on the floor. Even the waitress.
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The old, tattered curtain started to close.
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"STOP! OHMYGOD, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! SOMEBODY STOP HIM!"
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The shotgun was pointed at him as the curtains closed.
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Gilbert felt faint.
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As the noise of the shotgun's blast echoed through the small room, the
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crowd exploded with applause and laughter.
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The owner of the place came out from backstage and went up to the mike.
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"And there, folks, was one of Detroit's newest and funniest comics,
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Gilbert Simpson!"
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