Shack, the show manager, tells me there's a GLBT African-American event (http://www.dcblackpride.org) in the hotel in case I'm "concerned."
I start my act by telling the crowd about Shack's statement, and saying, "Hmm... Live in DC, party in New Orleans. No, I don't know ANY gay black people. Lions and tigers and brothers, oh my!"
Fun 1/2 hour of comedy. Standing room only. Of the whole crowd, the oldest lady in the room laughed the hardest at the joke about crotch-flavored gum.
Christy steals a hibiscus from the Wyndham lobby and puts it behind my ear.
We loitered at Shula's for a while, then went over to Lulu's New Orleans Bar. The rumor of the Lulu's cicada-eating contest was just that.
The GLBT crowd had taken over the Lulu's karaoke stage. I sang "Stand By Your Man" Blues-Brothers-style and dedicated it to gay tolerance. I think the hibiscus helped make the look.
We go to Joanna's Strip Club. The bouncer at Joanna's looked like Meat Loaf. I told him, "You look even more like Meat Loaf than I do." Then I cried his shoulder a la Fight Club- "I was on the juice." He laughs. He gives us the pimp table right under the dancer.
The dancers were WAY too thin for me. They had that vacant, protein-deprived look common to cult members and Communications majors.
Each dancer gets tapped by the next dancer and then sprays glass cleaner on the mirror behind her. I tell Coletti, "I'll never look at a Windex commercial the same way again." She overheard me and said, "Yeah, I have flashbacks." Women are funnier than men, 'cos women are the survivors of the species. Strippers and lesbians are survivors among the survivors.
Civilians find the irony in life that lies outside their experience by going to comedy clubs and seeing comedians exposing themselves more than civilians ever would.
Comics find the irony in life that lies outside their experience by going to strip clubs and seeing strippers exposing themselves more than comedians ever would.
What do strippers do? Watch the Surgery Channel? "Ooh, that's gonna leave a mark."
Go to karaoke. It's full of people who had surgery on television. Let the healing begin.
We ruin the strip club experience for the wealthy Asian businessmen behind us. Coletti puts the hibiscus in my mouth. The dancer drops her black lace panties and alien-green bikini top on my head. I wear them over my ears with the cups over my eyes. I look like a Martian wearing a mantilla with a flower for a tongue.
I figure we've taken this experience as far as we can go, so we go to Crystal City Restaurant, hoping Virginia dancers are better fed.
Crystal City had slightly fatter dancers. The drink receipt had a "Rate Our Service" section. My comment: "HIRE FATTER DANCERS. F=ma!" Food quality and service=superb. Atmosphere=malnourished.