"Alright ladies and gentlemen, keeping the night moving along, for tonight's amateur comedy, our fifth act, after that…well, let's just call it atrocious nonsense, is a man from the world of fine dining and finer comedy, the one, the only, Sir Stephen Frederickson!"
The audience applauds. I step on stage and up to the microphone. I hope they like my brand of humour.
"Good evening ladies and germs!" Dead silence. Good start. "So, I just flew in from the next city over, and my arms are a little sore. But that's because I was doing some heavy lifting yesterday." A cough, and one person clapping. Excellent.
"What do you call Mother Theresa now that she's dead? Nun of the Above." A single boo. This is going well.
"Hey, I was dating this girl once. She was only a whiskey-maker, but I liked her still." A groan, and a few boos! Getting better!
"Why did the chicken cross the road?"
From across the room, in the dark "Shut the fuck up!"
"Nope, that's not why. It's so he could get to the other side. Or maybe it was a she. I'm not sure, I'm not very good at sexing birds. Actually, odds are it was a she. These days at least. Because they usually kill the males."
Some people start to laugh, as they realize what I'm doing. Now it's soaking in. Time to hit them with the final knockout.
"I have one last one for you folks."
"FINALLY!" Someone else shouts.
"Thank you," I nod in the direction of the shout. This is a knock knock joke, so I need your participation. Okay, you start." I gesture, and a few people say "knock knock!" "Who's there?" Silence. "Thank you folks, you have a good night."
I shuffle offstage. The emcee comes back, and says "Okay, well, how about a round for Sir Stephen Frederickson! Thank you sir, that was…interesting. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry."
I chuckle, and let it all sink in to the audience. People look confused, uncertain. Mission accomplished.
