roger

Pizza1a

Jack, on why the incredibly hot eye waitresses kept ignoring me:

“Yer jailbait, Jailbait.”

“C’mon!  I’m just another guy – !”

“Yer 16!”

“17!”

“Get some perspective, kid!  Yer a pizza-face 16-year old that tells jokes!  Y’aint Denny Terrio!”

“17!”

“Whatever!”

Roger covering for a comic that just bombed:  

Alright.  That was the dramatic part of our evening.  Now, let’s get back to the comedy.

 

Comics watching Roger onstage in his trademark skin tight, pre-pre-pre-washed jeans sans briefs:

“Holy shit!”

“Fucker’s packing!”

“What’s he got – a roll of quarters?”

“Rolled-up pizza!”

 

Roger Naylor, our emcee/manager/producer, had incredibly long hair, a baby face, and what seemed to be a massive package in his pants which, on some nights, could be more distracting than anything he was saying.  But he was a fair manager and looked out for his comics.  

As for emceeing, he was decent but not your garden-variety comic.  Instead, he had a Will-Rogers-by-way-of-Kerouac ramble that was folksy and honest, and missed as often as it hit – but typically glided by on pure charm.  And his nightly, verbal walkabout always started with the same pre-amble:  I’m not a comedian.  I don’t do jokes.

Sure, it bugged some of the comics.

“He doesn’t tell jokes!  He just talks!  How’s that being an emcee?!”

“Who cares?  He’s funny.  I like him!”

“Screw you – you like everybody!”

But I didn’t care.  I got along with him fine.  

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