An older man, probably early 60’s, wearing one of those Clockwork Orange bowler hats, walked up to the microphone. He grabbed the mic, then walked towards the speaker on stage and made a bunch of feedback happen. “Just making sure you fuckers are awake. hahahaha” You could hear how drunk this man was already. “Sounded like someone banging Jerry’s mom! Right Jerry? You know Jerry. I love ya, ya fucking bastard. Wave to everybody, Jerry. Wave you fucker.”
“Jerry isn’t here. Hasn’t been here since Wednesday,” some shithead at the bar responded
“ Fuck Jerry! You guys ready to start this comedy show contest thing?” Dick Clark had nothing on this guy’s hosting skills.
The drunk host sat down at the table set up behind the makeshift stage. This stage looked like something Elian Gonzalez floated over to America on. Couple of wood boards on top of milk crates kept together with duct tape. The drunk host kept saying that he built it, with the same pride that a young child has when they show of their shitty macaroni art. Sitting at the table already were the 2 other judges of the comedy contest.
“Joining me as the esteemed judges is the incredibly beautiful bartender we just hired here,,,uh what’s your name again, gorgeous? I just know you as the thing I wanna wake up next to. Haha. Kidding. You are half my age. But if you ever wanna feel older and wiser, I’ll give you something old and wise to feel. Oh, and also judging is the co owner of this joint and my son, Junior.” The old drunk said the…
