“Style is not lusting after someone because they’re cool
Style is loving yourself ’till everyone else does too”
In the world of comedy everyone has a day job. Whether you’re a superstar comic, a road comic, and especially when you’re an amateur comedian; you have another job that supplements your income or at the very least keeps you busy and out of trouble. I mean, in the stand-up world you’re only really working thirty minutes to an hour a day. So, yeah, you need to find something constructive to do to occupy your time and stay off the pipe. It’s also conducive to the eternal quest we comics embark upon to become funnier. Picking up writing jobs for sit-coms and late-night t.v; producing and writing a nationally revered podcast about your past demons and present cats, cameos in movies and Law and Order Spin-offs. Voice over work as a cartoon dog. These are some of the more lofty day jobs that correlate with the entertainment field and thus retain an air of glamour. The kind of day jobs that don’t really feel like work, unless you’re Doug Stanhope–that dude hates everything.
Comedians usually mine their own lives for material, so it’s best to be active in the world to keep the jokes refreshing and personal. A jerk off joke is pretty standard fare, but a jerk off joke set in the unisex bathroom at a new finance job is way more scintillating. Also, when you’re a slash bartender, you can easily
harass convince your boss to let you run an open mic and get some practice reps in during Margarita Mondays. I’ve known comics who were ministers, life coaches, chefs, window washers, and personal trainers. I’ve also known comics with far less glamorous yet way more salacious jobs, usually in the sex industry. I’d like to see a stand-up pimp comic. That feels like it would be hella funny. A pimp once came to an open mic I performed at. He called himself, Pimp God. He was sipping cognac from a red Solo cup and kept yelling about how he had never heard of a place called the friend zone. The nigga was wearing five different outfits at once. An applejack hat, Lugz boots, velour track pants, an assortment of dingy gold rings and chains, and a soggy London Fog rain coat. It had not rained that night. This impudent flesh peddler had a small army of wide, square booty bitches, in floral mini dresses, who were comely and smelled like vanilla bean and hair gel. Had we told him what the friend zone was that night, he would’ve no doubt done a spit take of his Hennessy, while cackling with laughter as he called us all a bunch of faggies.
I have a close comedian lady friend. She’s not a square booty bitch–I mean she is, but she doesn’t give up the square butt for bucks– she’s a phone star. A phone star is exactly what it sounds like. She brings men to completion over the telephone. Every once in awhile she calls me. She practices on me. She say’s “Mike, what’s your phone star fantasy?” “Oh, that’s easy: slutty talking animals–hey, it worked for Walt Disney. I wan’t you to make dolphin sounds while I pleasure myself and hum a few bars to “Under The Sea” from The Little Mermaid soundtrack.” My friend, Sam Kelly, is a comedian and phone star, but not the aforementioned square booty phone star from three sentences ago. I know several phone stars, personally; you jelly? You should be. Sam has been doing comedy for about three years and specializes in turn of phrase punch lines, puns, and double entendres. All skills which make her as funny and filthy on stage as they do on land line.
As a phone star, what story does the top left image evoke?
If looks could kill! You don’t want this sultry brunette to shoot you down. If you think she’s going to cock anything but a pistol, she’ll give you one final ‘bang!’ for your buck. She is a revolutionary. Realizing that a firearm is the ultimate equalizer between male and female. Even The Don himself wouldn’t dare grab her by the pussy in those jorts.
Can you share a time you had to make a major decision in jorts?
I was 14 wearing jorts at my best friends house and I had to decide whether I was going to throw up at his house, or on my way home after all the Russian vodka our pubescent livers imbibed.
What did you end up doing?
Throwing up on my walk home because he came out as gay to me and I had a crush on him and it was totally awkward emotionally between us. Then I went home and puked non-stop for an hour and lied to my parents that I got sun poisoning. My jorts were still fresh as fuck though!
Were the jorts handcrafted or off the rack?
Handcrafted fo’ sho’ !
Noice. So you didn’t spew on your jorts then?
Lol. Nope! Surprisingly.
Heading forward, where do you see the future of jorts?
I think jorts can only grow in our society due to global warming threats and crumbling economy, people need to wear less because of heat but can’t afford new clothes, so BOOM! Cutting your own jorts to wear while battling mutants in radioactive heat waves shall be new fashion sensation.
Sam Kelly performs regularly at the Charm City Comedy Project in Hampden. She also hosts her own open mic every second, third, and fourth Tuesday at 1919 Bar on 1919 Fleet St. Fells Point 21231. follow her on facebook for jokes and show updates https://www.facebook.com/ksamantha091?ref=br_rs