Chapter 81

The good news was that the show started off fine. The host, a pretty average-looking guy with a close-cropped beard, opened the Open Mic night with some bland jokes at the participant’s expense, and reminded the crowd to tip their waitresses and to laugh or groan as much as they wanted.

Then he introduced the first ‘comedian.’ It was a big guy, heavily muscled and he looked like he was probably juiced up. He had an awkward start, catching a few chuckles from the crowd with his stiffness more than being funny. Each act was going to get ten minutes, and he went through his material in about six.

You and Gemma had spent more time looking at each other than the guy, and you had to assume he had noticed this.

“So I guess it’s time for me to do some crowd work,” he announced - already just a painful transition. Then he stomped across the stage right in front of you. “What’s your name, honey?”

You bristled at the audacity and glanced at Gemma to check if she wanted you to do anything, but she met your eye quickly and gave you a half-wink. “Gemma,” she said.

“And what’s a girl like you doing out with a guy like this?” he asked.

“Well, I thought we were at a comedy show, but it looks like they forgot to screen for funny,” Gemma retorted. She said it with a smirk, and I saw that the game was on.

The guy rocked back a bit as a couple of other people in the crowd chuckled. His nostrils flared and he frowned. “I’m not surprised really. I could feed you my funny bone and make you laugh over and over.”

“Oh, that explains everything,” you said, and turned to Gemma but kept talking loudly. “All the steroids shrunk his funny bone along with his cock.”

This got us a few more laughs, and the guy was starting to go red. He lifted an arm and flexed. To be fair to him, it was an impressive muscle, but he looked ridiculous doing it. “Boy, I could fold you in half and-”

“Alright, and that’s time for Corey Muscles,” the host said, stepping on stage and getting between the muscle-bound comedian and us. He said something to the guy away from the mic, and the guy backed off but didn’t stop glaring at us. Once he was gone, the host checked his clipboard. “Alright, let’s get a change of pace. Next up, give a warm welcome to the Mistress of Mayhem, Julie Miles!”

A woman, probably in her late twenties, strutted onto the stage wearing thigh-high black leather boots, booty shorts and a leather corset. To be quite frank, the outfit wasn’t working for her. She was built wide, and you would have been hard-pressed to find a way to consider her attractive. Thankfully you didn’t have to try and find a way to try to describe her, because once she stepped on stage she said. “What’s up, what’s up, party people! I’m Julie Miles, but I like my bitches to call me their Bull Dyke!”

It went downhill from there. She got some laughs based purely on how crude she was, but that was about it. About halfway into her set, she asked the audience, “So who here eats pussy?”