I accepted a comedy gig in the Palm Desert in California. It was 120 degrees. I was afraid I was going to die. Two hours later it was 125 degrees and I was afraid I was going to live.
The gig was at a hard core biker bar, a detail the booker failed to mention. She said she forgot. Right. She knew she wouldn't be able to get morons like me to go any other way. As I drove into the sweltering area I kept looking for the place. Suddenly I saw the biker bar and thought, "No! Please no!" Then I saw a banner that read, "Comedy Tonight!"
The booker was there along with the opener and middle comic. When I walked into the place, I knew I was in trouble. These were definitely hard core bikers. They had more ink in their tattoos than all of the Harry Potter books combined. They had knives and a few teeth missing, dressed all in black leather. They were scary and those were just the women.
The first two acts ate it like a plow horse. As I took the stage the booker told me the bartender, a terrifying man called snake, had my money, good luck and they all left. Great! The bikers didn't let either of the first two comedians even utter a single punch line, so I knew I wasn't going to tell jokes. I was going to have to mess with this scary crowd.
So I did. For an hour. Some threatened to kill me but then laughed as I dared them to. I remember saying, "Go ahead, but just know that I am a cowardly comic without a tattoo. You know why? Because they hurt! It's not like you're going to get any street cred by killing me." The crowd roared and I knew I was going to be ok.
I spent the rest of the time insulting them and they loved it. After the show they all sat with me and bought some beers. They told me that the other comedians couldn't take it but I shot right back at them. They wanted to know when I could come back, which was never going to happen. The booker tried to book me there a couple of months later. Right.
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