prep

Saturday.  

I had written the entire act in a couple days and didn’t review it with Dave or Bucky or my parents or anyone.  Soliciting opinions would only jinx me, make me crazy.  

Pre-med, pre-law, pre-mature ejaculation

That was one of the bits I had auditioned with.  

I’m taking advanced courses at school:  pre-med, pre-law, pre-mature ejaculation

Part of me was amazed that I’d gotten the nerve to audition in the first place.  Everyone else was a minimum five to ten years older than me, and all had performed to the sound of polite, pitying laughter from Roger and some of the more civil comics.  But no one was that funny, myself included.  I assumed most everyone had scored points for simply having balls enough to get up on stage.  

Kid said “ejaculation!”  Ha!

For more than a year now, I’d spent hours at a time holed up in my room with Carlin, Klein, Bruce, SNL, David Steinberg, Woody, Cheech & Chong, Mort Sahl, Bob Newhart – anybody with a comedy album.  I studied the albums voraciously, which is another way of saying I listened to them over and over.  Of course I didn’t understand any of the craft – joke construction, timing, use of imagery, twisting of logic.  I knew nothing of “Rule of 3s” or playing off an audience.  

But I’d kept notebooks of bits since the Pistols started, so I had a lot to work with.  I picked out 10 bits.  Timed myself.  The act took three to five minutes depending on how fast I went.  I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and memorized lines, sang lines.  I wandered the house like a gunslinger, saying bits out loud to no one, trying to catch myself off guard or lose my place, so that I could get back to where I had left off, quickly.

Finesse wasn’t a consideration.  If I could get on stage and get the words out of my mouth in a semi-proper order without suffering utter humiliation – that would be a win.  

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