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At Comedy Off-Center

Ken Kapp

    The final stand-up finished her joke and, after the laughter died down, reminded people that last call was in an hour. “No joke. Thank you all, you’ve been a great crowd.”
    Phil leaned back. He could see Stanley was wetting his lips behind the mask. Last call was typically his friend’s first call to start his own shtick – always interesting, not always funny.
    “Can you say something funny?” Stanley got started. “Who they kidding. God bless COVID. I get to wear a mask. I guess it helps. That and the beard. Softens my nose. I’d be rich if I had a buck for every time someone came up to me and said I looked like Robin Williams: ‘You’re not Robin Williams, are you?’”
    Phil raised his glass of beer, pimping him, “Here’s to you, Robin Williams. You ready to retire?”
    Stan moved his mask to the side and gulped down some beer before continuing, not bothering to answer his friend’s question. “I look like him to you? You know we all have chins and noses. Williams’ been dead for 6, 7 years. Do I look dead? Do you ever hear me riffing on and on. I don’t even make mother-in-law jokes or say anything about nagging wives. And nada about friends, nada!”
    Phil raised his right eyebrow and finished the beer left in his glass. “Politics, you do tend to go off on politics. It’s my round.”
    “Yeh, your round. Not until all those ducks come flying home.” Earlier that evening he had gone on and on about if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, grifts and lies like a duck it’s probably Donald, the ex-liar and thief. No nickel and dime shit. “A buck for every time some one says I’m Robin Williams. I can play the circuit, put on an Elvis Suit, set up a café table full of designer water.”
    Phil pushed away from the table. “Elvis is dead.”
    “Oh, is he? People are still spotting him. Heard they got clubs all over the South. Probably got a Robin Club here in San Francisco, blue sign out front – robin blue in case you’re slow tonight.”
    Phil took a step back.
    “You know they put up a noose in DC – for Pence. I think we need to assemble guillotines wherever Trump stages one of his rallies. Put in one of those rubber chickens filled with ketchup. Whoosh: slam-bam thank you ma’am. Like with Stony, just a reminder about President Virtue. Trader, sold the secrets in the empty folders to the highest bidder, you ask me.”
    “Not funny – I’m beginning to think you may not be Robin Williams after all. Now I really need to get those beers.”
    When Phil came back, he put the beers on the table. Stan’s mask was off, a sign that he was ready to go. He watched as his friend smiled, extended his arms, and made little circles with his fingers, then turned his head from side to side as if he were sizing up an audience.
    “Macon, that French guy. You know it was originally spelled with a B – bacon. Best’s from North Carolina, maybe Georgia. That’s where they stole the election. Took home my bacon. Never trust those Frenchies. Pigs, the best bacon comes from pigs. When I’m elected again, biggest margin ever, billions more votes for me, I’m going to declare a National Pig Day. No, make that two National Pig Days. I’ll make the announcement in Iowa; they have lots of pigs there.”
    “Virginia hams?” Phil ventured, not being able to resist a chance to break the flow. “Take some beer, Stan, cool those vocal chords.”
    “Three days then. Wouldn’t want to slight Virginia. Got a golf club there, number two iron, whack! Hole-in-one on the sixteenth. Never been done. I did it though. Best hole-in-one ever – one shot. That’s how it’s done. They were going to put a plaque in the club room, I told them not.
    “You know they kick off elections up there in New Hampshire. What’re they known for? No, don’t tell me. I know – marble. Lots of white marble, even got a mountain there called White Mountain. It’s white even in the summer when there’s no snow on top. Most mountains have snow on top. Not this one. Wants to show off it’s really white.
    “I’m a genius, that’s how I remembered this. Never forget a fact once I know it. Marble – did I ever tell you I was going to be a sculptor. Lot of talent. Freddie, my father recognized it early. Wanted to send me to Italy to study. See all those statues with no clothes on. Was going to give me my first commission. Him sitting on a throne. It would be big, really big. In good taste of course. Put it in front of one of our properties. But don’t tell anyone, promise. He had hemorrhoids, couldn’t sit still long enough for me to work up something in clay. Never said so, but it runs in the family – no joke. Or maybe he was constipated. We had to abandon the project and I went to Whoretown School of Something instead. Top school for numbers you know. Genius kids and I was at the top of the class – or some of my classmates, the pretty ones. Some of those girls could do wonders with that abacus thing. They had two extra things up front to move those beads back and forth.”
    Stan stood up, swaying his chest back and forth to demonstrate. He bumped the table and spilled the beer that was left in his glass. “Damn! OK, my round. Don’t go away.”
    He came back, gingerly placed one beer in front of his friend, and started drinking from the bottle. “This beats water any day, twice on Sunday. Hey, maybe we should make Sundays National Beer Day. I do that, I’d win the election by the biggest margin ever. Billion votes.”
    Phil coughed. “There are still places with blue laws, you know.”
    “Blue laws? Never heard of them. Blue, that’s the Democrats, for sure. We’ll get rid of them. Those Proud Boys will ride their motorcycles up and down Main Street. Hmm, Proud Boys; they’d better be of drinking age. If not, I’ll change the law. Campaign slogan, put it on bumper stickers: If you’re old enough to own a gun, you’re old enough to drink beer. Make that billions of votes!
    “You remember what I was saying about my father. Never gave me a nickel. That’s why I’m holding out for a buck – you want me to be the Williams guy. I know, I’ll post my picture and do a kickie thing on my website ‘Nothing But the Truth.’ Money flow in like crazy for my campaign. Set up so they give every month. Cash Elephant, I’ll call it a cash elephant. Elephant – isn’t that a GOOP thing. Not that English actress. But no cash cow, those people in Wisconsin didn’t do nothing for me last time. Weaklings, cowards, must be from following those donkeys pulling all them plows. All of America wants me to run again.”
    Phil tried to cover his laugh, making believe that the beer went down the wrong pipe. Run? Yeh, run to Russia, Saudi Arabia, or North Korea – partial payment for some of those secret files gone missing.
    “What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m funny?”
    “Verdict’s out. Not quiet sure you’re heavy enough to do Trump. And maybe some things aren’t funny no how. But, time to drink up. I’m supposed to be the responsible driver and need to get to bed before the church bells start ringing.”

~ * ~
    Phil reached over and pushed open the car door when they got to Stan’s apartment building. “Home, buddy.” Stanley struggled with the seat belt. As he swung his legs out, Phil had a few parting words. “You know you do look a little like Robin Williams.”
    Stanley slammed the door. “Not funny, you’re really not funny!”

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