Wednesday Night At The Improv: The Morning After

AIM IM with LAZLO: 9:52 AM
LOU: hey champ… how u doin today?
LAZLO: great how about you
LOU: contemplating quitting just so i can nap
LAZLO: nice
LOU: cleand up the yard
LAZLO: thanks
LOU: movd couch
LOU: again apparently
LAZLO: good work
LOU: paced for 20 minutes about how i could call in sick
LOU: threw up while brushing teeth
LOU: GTs
LOU: i wanna go home
LOU: my eyes are closed as i type this
LAZLO: nice
So, you wake up and Laz is asking for your keys to jump his car and he’s telling you to clean up the yard.. Hmm, the yard?.. You get up out of bed and find the couch is in the hallway.. Hmm, that’s strange. Let’s see.. I remember watching Wildboyz after we got home from the club and I kept hitting the 3 second back button on the Tivo because Pontius hit his head on a door and it was fucking hilarious. It’s at this point that things become a bit blurry. And by blurry, I mean non-existent. Shit, I could’ve fucked a camel in the kitchen as far as I’m concerned. Now, as I write this, I’m aware of the fact that I could ask Laz what went down, but it’s just more fun to deal with the futile attempt to remember the details on my own.

I’m seriously retarded right now, which, according to Dane Cook means that at one point I was tarded, then I was fine, and now I’m RE-tarded. Oh, and my dick feels like a cobb of corn. (You had to be there). CollegeHumor.com and National Lampoon throw a weekly thing at the Improv and because Laz and I are hot shit in Hollywood, (read: drunken fucks who have email adresses), we got in for free. Can’t beat a night of drunken stand up on a Wednesday night, right? The first two comedians, I think their names were “I Don’t Remember” and “I Was On Reno 911 Once”, was extremely mediocre and not too bad, respectively. Second, was that sexy bitch from Last Comic Standing, Tammy Pescatelli, who was pretty much the same as she was on the show. Kind of a 3 drink chick if you know what I mean and the jokes were kind of 6 or 7 drinks quality, and considering I was only on number three then, she wasn’t very good. I wanted to punch her in the dick. (had to be there).
Then, suddenly and unannounced, Dane Cook arrived, and even though he is often hit or miss, this night was a hit. I laughed until I shit my pants and threw the still warm feces across the room, hitting a drunk frat boy in the lower lip. True story. So, what I’m trying to say is Dane was the shit. There’s a whole lot of his set that I would like to remember, but again, that battle is a futile one.
After the Cookmeister, (how’s that for a dated suffix?), the man we’d been waiting all night for walked his drunk ass on stage, Mr. Dave Attell. Now how do I say this gently? Hmm. Well, besides the fact that he spent 15 minutes, (no joke), on getting material from Laz’s Vegas trip, (we were in the front row), his set was complete shit. Wait, that is besides these chestnuts… Taglines for Jager.
“Did I just kill and eat a hooker? … Jager”
“Where’s Daddy? … Jager”
After he sleptwalk through his set, we got the man whose list we were on, Ben Gleib. Still don’t remember how that happened. I must’ve blew Bob Saget again or some shit. Having never seen this young whipper snapper before, I wasn’t sure how good he’d be. It’s literally a tough act to follow when you’re after Danester Cookenstein and Atella the Pun (I’m seriously the funniest person ever. EVER!).
He was actually pretty funny. He was no Jackie Mason, but he made fun of Chile and, in my book, anybody from Santiago who doesn’t have a raging coca leaf problem needs to get their shit together. Just sayin.
I guess that pretty much gets me back to the beginning of the story, or the end. Fuck. I don’t know. Where am I? Why do I have handcuffs on? God damn these pigs. Swine, I tell you. Fucking Pig Cunt Swine. (All I could think of on the way to work in between phantom vomit urges was finding a way to work the word cunt into my post this morning. I considered just posting the word, that’s it, but what do you know, I actually got the energy to write a fuckin’ story again like the old days. You know, like April and shit.) (Isn’t there some kind of rule against parantheticals being more that one sentence?) [How about these things? Shit, I don't even know what they're called. Brackets? Fuck.]
-Later, Lou
P.S. While looking for my camera phone pictures, I remembered that the Legendary Jeffery Ross closed out the festivities last night. Honestly, I think he was great as usual, but we were unfortunately too busy trying to divvy up the damn $150 bill at the time for me to remember the details. I did, however talk to him after the show and he was madd fly. (Sorry, had to. Sometimes you gotta make yourself laugh). I hope he got some ass off the chick he was working at the bar when we took off. And, oh yeah, I hope Ned and his girlfriend made it home alright. (Yes, Laz, I know his name was Nick). (I hate myself at the fact that I can remember his fucking name and not his fine ass girlfriend. Hate.) Cunt.