[ Show ]
[ Shrink ]
Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor
of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users'
privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your
privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket
to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we
also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.
Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your
contribution is not tax-deductible.)
Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):
[ Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message ]
Date Posted: 06/28/03 1:04am
Subject: Greg in Boston 6/27/03 (spoilers, adult themes)
The air conditioning is not working in the comedy club. It is a sauna. They also had a fire in the kitchen not too long ago, so the bar is makeshift and getting a drink is a Herculean task. So far, so good.
The emcee's name is Eric Hoffa or Koffa. It is a general rule that all opening acts bite. I seem to remember seeing this guy a few years ago when he emceed for Brad Sherwood, and he hasn't gotten any better. Most of the jokes revolve around, "Any single people here?" Insert joke about sex. "Any married couples here?" Insert joke about sex. "Any big black guys here?" Insert joke about sex. He closes with a joke so old it has been mummified and laid in state in Egypt, the one about going to dinner and farting and blaming it on the dog. The hook. Get the hook.
The midliner's name is Gary Gilman. He is six foot six, cute in an indie rock boy kinda way. He tells jokes about cookies, tattoos, speed limits, the (censored) who do their own commercials for their furniture stores (I don't know if the gag travels well outside New England), how the sex of a baby is never a surprise, Yiddish words, nonexistant professions, and Batman. He is engagingly surreal and chipper, with the 'please love me please love me I'll make you love me,' type of persona. I'd like to see him again.
Greg's hair is tilted at an angle. He starts with New England stuff, about the stereotypical Boston accent, which people have told me is quite harsh to the ear, complains about the heat outside and inside ("I'm losing weight up here"), comparing it to the Killing Fields of Cambodia, about the driving and the roads with signs written in Esperanto, and about Rhode Island, which is very dinky. The Rhode Island stuff segues into the Great White club fire stuff, which segues into Greg complaining because the audience 'suddenly has developed taste' and is not laughing as hard as he wants. The basic gist is that the people in the club in Rhode Island caused the date rape rate to go down fifty percent by dying. And most of them lived at home with their parents and drove pickup trucks with the word 'yo' written on the back.
He also complains about Paul McCartney and how Heather his wife pulled some Tae Bo Tantric sex Matrix trick on him and made him a (censored) whose song "Freedom" made Greg want to form his own terrorist cell. (On the first show, he started to make a joke about Paul switching the songwriting credits from Lennon/McCartney to McCartney/Lennon, tripped over his words and mumbled, "I just f***ed that joke up," which made the first show audience laugh and Greg say, "I get it now. You laugh at my pain and embarrassment." He never did finish the joke) He jokes about Heather shilling for an anti-land mine organization despite being 50% less likely to lose a limb to a landmine. He also complains about not enough people finding the Heather stuff funny because "if any of you were friends with them, you'd be in England at Sting's mansion getting a (censored because I thought of the children)."
He talks about the Dixie Chicks and how he wishes they were real transvestites so they could be the Dixie Chicks with Dicks. He complains that they're fucking up Landslide even more than Stevie Nicks did, which leads into an impression of Miss Nicks, (well, it's really Greg's devil bit with the lyrics to Landslide in place of miniature Snickers), where suddenly Stevie turns into Gollum from Lord of the Rings and slithers all over the stage. He talks about English country music fans, who travel around in a double-decker bus with "If you ain't from Brighton, you ain't sh*te!" written on the side, because there are no trailer parks in England. (Um, Greg? Honey babe? Ever heard of caravans? Huh?) He also sings Tubthumping, which is a 'hard-hitting documentary,' in England. I get knocked down! But I get up again! You're never gonna keep me down! He talks about people in Texas getting angry because Natalie Maines said she was ashamed the President was from Texas, and burning the Dixie Chicks CDs. Greg is still upset at Merle Haggard for things he said in the seventies but has yet to burn his records. He wonders why people would be so upset, since things country singers say rarely affect anyone's real life. And the irony of putting a petroleum-based product on a petroleum fire because you're ticked about comments made over a war on petroleum. If you weren't a country music fan, you'd be able to appreciate the irony instead of you and your children keeling over from the fumes.
He talks about how stupid musicians and actors are, how actors have no personality so they can be filled with a character, how Daniel Day Lewis is overacting in the poster for Gangs of New York, where he looks like Popeye. There's a deliciously funny bit about actors at the Oscars struggling to look smart as they read off a teleprompter, giving awards to films like There Should Have Been Strawberries, and Wow, That's a Lot of Hay. He also rags on Fred Durst for lapsing into Old English at the Grammys and using the word 'agreeance.' Fred Durst, if you haven't heard by now, is a bizarrely misshapen date-raping troll.
He also talks about George Bush's 'diplomacy,' where he has never had to negotiate for anything in his life and therefore 'Yer either furrus or aginus!' Which is why he couldn't get the French on board. The French need coaxing. They invented foreplay, don't you know. Clinton could have said, "After the war, comes the lovin'," and everything would have been fine.
One of the reasons I like going to more than one show is seeing the reactions of the different audiences. The first crowd seemed younger and hipper, so there was a lot more laughing and going along with the flow, despite Greg's complaining to the contrary. But Greg complains even when the crowd is rolling in the aisles, so that's no surprise. The second crowd seemed a little more square, which required Greg to give a lecture at several points and finally declare that he wasn't going to leave the stage until the audience gave him what he wanted (love). Then a couple gets up and walks out. Greg says goodbye nicely to them. But he is also very, very angry.
When Greg gets angry, he digs his heels in. So, after repeatedly snarling about the couple who had to leave because they were late for the 'date rape Olympics,' Boston's character is impugned, the crowd is berated, the night is marked down as 'sh*tty,' while Greg insists repeatedly that he is not in the slightest bit upset. Then he seems like he feels better, tells a penis joke, and leaves. Oddly enough, the crowd who he insisted hated him cheers loudly.
I love Greg when he's cranky.
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
[ Contact Forum Admin ]
Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.