Real Stories From the Road - The Black Anus

Jul 01, 2014

Many years ago, during the big comedy scare of the late 1980s/early 1990s, I was booked on a Tribble Run.  For those of you who don't know, a Tribble Run is a (usually in the northwest) series of 4 or 5 comedy one-nighters that take place at bars, restaurants and casinos.  Named after the man who books it, David Tribble.  Also, you drive from one gig to the next.  On Tribble runs, those "next" gigs are generally 3,000 miles or so from the one you did the night before.

For the particular run I will talk about here, I was paired up with a female headliner named Jan.  The way one-nighter shows usually work is a local radio DJ opens the show with a few street jokes, station promo and t-shirt giveaways.  Then the "feature act" (me, perennially) does 30 minutes followed by the headliner who does 45 minutes.

So, after driving 3,000 miles or so and checking into our hotel, Jan and I show up at the gig:  A chain steakhouse along the Oregon coast. One that, unfortunately, lost power to one of the letters on its signage.  We pulled into the parking lot of the Black An us.

Upon arriving we were guided to the banquet room where we met the banquet manager.  He was a pear-shaped man, sort of a Tweedle-Dee looking sort. (Or maybe Tweedle-Dum, I get them mixed up.)

Anyway, he nervously welcomed us, showed us the room set-up (with white tablecloths and folding chairs) and introduced us to the local radio DJ.  After the orientation, and even though I believe he knew the answer, Tweedle Dee asked us (probably to make sure WE knew the answer) how much time we were going to do.  I told him my contract stated that I was to do 30 minutes.  Jan said she was to do 45 minutes.  A while later, the show began. 

The local radio DJ introduced me and, 10 minutes or so into my set, I asked, "By applause, who are my married people?"  A youngish couple in the front started clapping and laughing.  I asked their names and how long they'd been married.  They told me their first names and then snickered and admitted that they were married but not to each other.  I said, "Thank you but I'm trying to find a couple who are married to each other."  The rest of my 30 minutes went without incident.

The local radio DJ came back onstage and introduced Jan.  About 10 minutes into Jan's set a voice from the back of the room yelled, "You f√cking bitch!"  Jan stopped and said, "Hey, I don't mind being heckled, but being called a f√cking bitch for no reason is unacceptable."  The voice yells back, 'No. Not you. HER!"  Referring to the married-but-to-someone-else woman from my show.  The yeller was her husband.

Then all hell broke loose.  Fists, chairs and bottles were flying.  I literally grabbed Jan off the stage and threw both of us into the coat check room and closed the door.  We listened to the (as Simon and Garfunkel would put it) sounds of violence for what seemed like a long time but was probably only 5 minutes or so.  We heard the police sirens approach and stop in the parking lot.

When we emerged from the coat check room, chairs, broken glass, and bloody tablecloths were strewn around the room.  The police cars' lights were flashing through the windows and, when we looked outside, we saw dozens of our once audience members sitting on the curb with their hands zip-tied.  We were in a light state of shock.  But what was to follow was even more shocking.

Tweedle-Dee waddles up to us, through the debris of the destroyed banquet room, looks nervously at Jan and says, "Um… you still have 35 minutes." 

 



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Category: Stand-Up Comedy

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