Francisco was a comedian in the very populated metro region of the south north quadrant. His shows had been getting more consistent, and he had a steady income from selling CDs and teaching some workshops. Most of his jokes were about dating, and office work, or funny things about relatives and awkward conversations. One night, in the middle of a show, he suddenly thought of a new joke and just blurted it out with no planning.
“What if someone was born with clothes on?” he said, standing at the mike while the audience roared laughing. The joke’s appreciative reception was as unexpected as the joke itself. Francisco started riffing on it, creating a wave of humor for the laughter to surf on. “It’s like, okay, do you wash the clothes on the baby, or what. Like is the baby just supposed to always have clothes on?” One guy in the middle of the comedy club was laughing harder than everyone. Francisco continued. “And do you tell people? Like if they say what a cute outfit, do you say, “thanks, it’s from that store downtown, called Miracle Baby.” Francisco kept thinking of more to say. “Wouldn’t you feel guilty if you had a baby shower and some people would like know that the baby already had an outfit, like the muppets, like Ernie and Bert who wear the same shirt every day?”
The guy laughing so hard in the middle of the crowd could not stop laughing. He was keeled over, clutching his stomach, drooling. His girlfriend next to him slowed her laughing and started to look concerned. A few other people nearby also seemed in distress, but mostly able to calm down. Francisco saw him but decided to go for one final punch. “It’s like, okay, so much for hand me downs, you know?”
This is when the drooling guy fell off his chair, and was suddenly motionless. He had died laughing. Some people came to his side and tried to call for medical attention. Many people still could not control themselves laughing and just left the comedy club.
Francisco watched from the stage, started to feel an odd feeling of pride, with some serious bafflement, but then smirked to himself, left the stage, and sat in a back room feeling a sense of power that he felt he had waited for all his life. “I was born for this,” he thought to himself, laughing, hesitating to make sure he would not die from his own joke, and then leaving to go home.
The joke became part of his routine, and because he toured all around from city to city, people didn’t realize there was a pattern happening when someone would die at every show.
“I’m a freakin’ serial killer,” thought Francisco, and then wondered if he could work that idea into the routine some.
Finally, at one of the shows as Francisco started talking about what kind of outfit a kid could be born in, like would it have a whale on the pocket or do you make the kid keep wearing the hat and socks or not, people started to lose control like usual. But a heckler stood up and started giving Francisco trouble. “Hey man, what we are wondering is what kind of outfit you’re going to jail in,” said the guy standing up. Some FBI agents then came on stage and took Francisco to the station for questioning. The heckler walked up behind the microphone and said, “This isn’t funny to me. I was born with clothes on.”
No comments:
Post a Comment