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The success of the Comedy Club is due in large part to its staff. With that in mind it seems painfully obvious that they would have some interesting stories to tell from their indentured service. Knowing full well this may blow the lid off Pandora's Box, we still invite any and all former employees to tell us your funny story.


STORY #1

This is an open letter to all the comedians that benifited from my exceptional bartending prowess over the years. As they know it has very little to do with my drink mixing ability and more to do with my "in's" with the waitresses and the lonely drunk girl at the end of the bar.
Very much like Roswell I think enough time has gone by that I may release this classified information to the public. Now this is of course, unless I am compensated handsomely for another 20 years of silence.
As for the uninformed public, not all comedians are hound dogs, some of them are women. The comics I speak of know who they are and a check made out to "Wanda's Lingerie Show" is acceptable.
Have a nice day, Read Powell
P.S.- Hows that rash Mr. Nitely?

STORY #2

THE HECKLER FROM HELL
A lot of people don't understand that heckling is neither desired nor appreciated in a Comedy Club. For some unknown reason, comedy is the only art-form that has to deal with heckling. Comedians have an act and don't need the help or the interruptions.
After 16 years, there are many stories about hecklers. This is just one of them. Oddly enough you would think that this one might have been years ago, but the worst was just recently. It started out to be a nice evening.
The crowd was smallish. A young guy (early 20's) came in and paid the cover for himself and his date, a young lady who had that hippie look of yore. The young man pulled a bottle opener out of his back pocket, the kind that all bartenders seem to carry that picks holes in their pants.
He said, Could you please hold onto this for me. I'm a bartender and I forget I have it in my pocket, and I don't want to poke holes in your seats. It occurred to me that he should have become aware of the opener in the car and he was simply trying to make sure I knew he was a bartender.
I seated the couple in the middle of the room, 1 row back. Before the first act, Chris Speyrer was mid-way through his set, the "hippie girl" started yelling out. I waited a few minutes (it's better to catch them in the act rather than just after because they always claim they weren't doing anything or were just laughing).
The headliner, Big Mac McClellan, went on and "hippie girl" started yelling out with more fervor than before. I weaved my way through the audience in time to hear her exchanging loud thoughts with the woman at the table next to her.

CONTINUE