“Thanks Arnold, my man. It’s good to be black, I mean back … and black. But, you know Arnold; you can call me William now that I’m all grown up. Willie's for kids ... or something you get when you’re cornered by creepy woman.”
Dan had seen WJ before. The man's presence always marveled him. He watched as the entire room was captivated. Willie just had something; he was just funny to hear and watch. Dan leaned back against the wall with his beer, and tried to soak in everything the man did.
Willie James had the audience laughing before he even started.
“Man, my wife bought a new dog about a month ago. I mean, it’s a great thing for her: buying a dog and having a husband to walk it and feed it all the time. I’m thinking, ‘How the hell did this happen? I didn’t want the damn dog, you did!' But I’m not about to say that out loud, because my wife’s pretty big, and she’d kick my ass.”
Dan was laughing out loud already.
“I mean, she didn’t used to be big; she just got big from sitting on her ass all day long. I just don’t understand it. She sits on the couch all day, and when I’m home I never see her eating. So, how the hell is she getting bigger? Maybe my man Dan is right about those second-hand carbs. You can apparently get them from just watching television. It’s not funny! Why you people laughing? It could happen to you, too!"
“So anyway, I got to walk this silly looking dog, and it’s not even one of those little dogs that a woman can carry in her purse. No, my woman has a purse big enough for to carry a Rottweiler in it. One time, my hand got lost just looking for a lighter in there."
People were pounding on the tables, and Dan had tears streaming down his eyes.
“So this ugly mutt — part beagle, part shepherd, part bulldog, part stupid — takes forever to take a crap. But, you know when they are about to make their move. I don’t understand it, but all of a sudden, the dog starts to spin around, like one or two times, and then starts to poop. I’m like, 'Is that a trick or something? Does that loosen up the bowels? Can I try that when I’m constipated? If the dog’s in Australia, do they spin the other way around? I mean, what is this dog doing? Is that how it zeroes in on the perfect spot? I mean, I don’t know!'"
Dan was still laughing, and so was the rest of the room. Willie was into it on the stage, acting out whatever he said.
“So, one day I’m in the bathroom with my baby, Jacaleen, and she says to me. ‘WJ, what in the world are you doing?’ I didn’t know what she's talking about, so I ask her … respectfully,” Willie put his hands out, “... 'Baby, what are you talking about?' She says to me, 'Why you spinning around like a fool before you take a dump?'”
Willie kept them coming like that, one after the other, for another ten minutes. Dan couldn’t help but wonder how a person that could make a person laugh so much wasn’t a millionaire. At least some of them are. Willie kept it up for another five minutes.
“So, I’m at my grandma’s, and she’s about 90 years old. She can barely see, walk, or remember a single one of her grand children’s names. But,” Willie pointed at the audience, “she knows the names and numbers of over five hundred cable channels. I mean to the letter. Every movie channel, sports channel, porn channel … er … I mean news channel. She knows it all. Sometimes, I have to call her to find out what time the game is on. I mean, I guess cable TV is the reason old people live as long as they do, because they got so much TV to watch. Fifty years ago I think they just got bored and died.”
Dan’s stomach hurt. He felt like he’d been punched there a dozen times. It was a good thing. Willie was still going strong, but Dan could tell he was winding it up.
“You know what I think is stupid? White people in the NBA.”
Nobody cringed, instead they laughed even harder.
“I mean, it’s bad enough that the white dudes slow the game down to a pace where white people can keep up with it. But, then you have to have some white dude in a purple suit, with a pink checkered tie and a sombrero on at his first TV interview. I can’t tell if he’s trying to fit in with the black people … who by the way, can make any suit happen …”
The crowed was cheering him on.
“Or if he just robbed the Easter Bunny and a pimp's taco stand! I’m William James, but you can call me Sweet WJ! Have a good night ya’ll!”
CHAPTER 18
“Our next guest is a man who needs no introduction. It’s been over five years since he began his career, and the Weasel's Tail has always had a soft spot for him, despite his misgivings …”
Dan had never seen this comedian in person, but he had seen him on TV a few times before. Plus, his picture was on the wall of the night club's Hall of Fame. He couldn’t imagine anybody doing a better job than Willie James, but this next guy was the headliner, so he suspected he’d have to be just as good. The waitress from earlier brought him another beer and winked as she said, “It’s on me, Honey.” Things were looking up again. Maybe it was going to be his night after all; he just hoped she didn’t have any tattoos.
“… Now, put your hands together for the one and the only, Greg … the Mullet!”
The clapping was thunderous, and the cheers were, too. It was like being at a pep rally. A tall and hefty man emerged on the stage, to the crowd's delight. Greg was burly and had a long brown mullet and a silver moustache that ran down to his chin. He was everything you’d expect from a roadie at an eighties Def Leppard concert. He wore a bright yellow Camaro Iroc-Z T-shirt under a leather Harley-Davison vest. A chain was hooked to his pants that kept his wallet attached. The man’s stage presence was startling. His eyes glimmered over his rugged chin. He waved the microphone over his head and spun around. In an hyper-active voice with a country twang he spoke.
“Never worry, never fear, Greg the Mullet is finally here! How you’all doing tonight in the Weasel’s Butt!”
Glasses were raised and shouts were cried out.
“Well, I tell you, it’s good to be back, yes sir, good to be back. All of this traveling from place to place wears a man out. I mean, I’m getting old.” Greg looked around at the tables. “And getting old makes me thirsty.”
He stepped over the stage, rubbing his chin.
“Now, I like to learn a little bit about my audience, and back in college we used to do this trick.” Greg stopped and glared at everyone. “Yes, I went to college, sort of. I mean, I was enrolled, but I didn’t go to a lot of classes on account they started earlier than I expected them to. And it’s hard to get up when you’re out with your friends all night. Of course, my friends weren’t other students. Naw, they were the locals, many of them part of the university’s custodial crew.”
Dan had some idea what he was talking about, and the audience did, too.
“Anyway, we used to go from table to table and sample the drinks that all the rich kids left half empty on the table. We called it the ‘Let’s try those drinks them people left before the bus boy comes’ game, and it was a lot of fun.”
Greg the Mullet sauntered into the audience, eying the nearest table, stroking the hair on the back of his mullet.
“You drinking that?” Greg said, pointing at one pretty gal near the front. She was desperately nodding her head and clinging to her boyfriend. Greg took her cup to his lips, drank, and made a big production as he swallowed it down.
“Ew-wee! What in the world is that? It’s disgusting!”
The woman couldn’t be heard over the chuckling.
“What?” He crooned his ear her way and shouted, “Water! Well, you ain’t supposed to drink it! You’re just supposed to bathe and swim in it! That’s disgusting. Yuck!”
The guffaws continued on as Greg got deeper into his routine.
“If you ever want to do something really fun, go snow tubing naked. But, I warn you fellas, your pecker will look like an icicle when it’s all said and done.
“I got this cat at home, and every time I’m in a hurry
to go somewhere I’ll be durned if that cat don’t walk right in front of me. I pick that little varmint up and I shake my finger in its face and tell it, ‘Don’t do that anymore’ right before I throw it as far away as I can. As soon as I start to get going again that cat shows up and trips me and down the stairs I go. You ever see a bear go down the stairs on roller skates? It kinda looks like that.
“One time, I told my date she was husky. She went to the bathroom and never came back. It was a Dutch date, too. But, like a good soldier I finished her rack of ribs, cheesy fries, and Hot Fudge Cake, ” he said wiping his forehead.
Dan watched Greg the Mullet’s animations with glee. The man danced, jumped, dove, tried to fly, everything he could think of. The comedian was of the hilarious breed that exercised many talents whose ridiculous appearance made it all the funnier.
“One time me and my wife were at the movies, and she wanted me to get her a snack, and I gave her a Slim-Fast bar I had in my pocket.
“You know, one thing us Mullets like is fast cars, fast women, and delivery pizza …
“I’ve been married four times, and I gotta tell you, marriage kinda loses its luster after the 3rd or 4th time. It’s like a chess game: each one of you is trying to figure out which one’s gonna file for divorce first. But, God bless us, my current wife and I have been together almost ten years, and that’s more than all the rest of them put together.”
The enraptured crowd applauded.
“Now, that don’t mean it's any easier than the rest. For example, just because you live with someone every day doesn’t mean you always know the right thing to say. One time I said to my wife, ‘Well, I guess you’re all God thought I deserved.’ I swear I meant it as a compliment; it just didn’t come out right.
“One time, I surprised my wife on our anniversary. I got her an illegal alien. Yep, a little Mexican fella, about yay tall,” he held his hand up to his chest, “and she asked me what he was for. I said seeing how the house is a wreck all of the time and you broke the vacuum cleaner, I figured you could use the help. I woke up with my lips glued shut after that night.
“If you want to win the war on terror, let all the divorced people go and fight it. They know how to put an end to something real quick.
“My wife hardly eats, but you wouldn’t think so by looking at her.
“My wife has hands like a lumberjack …”
They kept coming like that, hard and fast, not leaving the audience any time to recover. Dan could feel his stomach tightening like a bow string, one guffaw after the other.
“One time somebody told me that somebody had Twittered my wife, and it made me fighting mad.
“We wrote our own wedding vows. I always thought that was pretty romantic. I even remember some of mine. I said, 'I might not be the best looking, or the smartest, or the richest … but I’m not the dumbest, or ugliest either … or poorest … and I have a job, sometimes, but baby, I Love You more than a plate of nachos ...'
“My wife keeps asking me if she needs to lose weight. I told her, 'Don’t worry, skinny will go out of style one day.'
“I can always tell when my baby is having a bad day,” he paused and raised his voice, “because it lasts all week long.
“Does anybody else’s wife look like a giraffe when she eats?
“Sometimes, when I’m in the mood for whoopee I have a hard time getting my sweetie on board. I’ll be chasing her around the house, and I tell you what, for a thickset gal she’s got some moves. I’ll get my arms around her, and she’ll spin right out of them. One time, she stiff-armed me when I corned her in the bedroom. I swear, I think it’d be easier to tackle Adrian Peterson than try to pin her down.”
Dan’s stomach was sore, and he wasn’t the only one whose guts were busting. The men, women, bartenders, and waitresses all were wiping the tears from their eyes, but Greg the mullet still wasn’t finished. Dan felt like he was trapped in a bubble of laughing gas.
“Now, I got to tell you women something. And I’ve been preaching this all around the country, because you gals have gotten carried away with some things, and when I say some things … I mean sex. For some reason, you ladies have got it in your head that sex is supposed to be this long-lasting experience. Well here’s what I know: It don’t take more than TEN SECONDS,” he held up all of his fingers, “to make a baby, and you don’t need to have an orgasm to make one, either.
“Sex ain’t supposed to last that long, and it’s confusing men like me. I mean, do you know how many sports is on out there to watch? It takes a lot of time to keep up with all of that. I can’t be trying to figure out what turns you on, either. Especially when men are so good at what turns you off, like looking at other women and stuff.”
“But I try. One time I went to the doctor and I told him about our sex life and told him she wanted it to last longer. So he gave me some of the 'See Alice' pills, and I figured just to make her happy this one time, I’d try a couple of extra. I got home with some flowers and a big chocolate milk shake — cause she just loves those milk shakes. She saw that hungry look in my eye and I saw her licking her lips at the sight of that frosty shake. Before I knew what was going on, we're both in the bedroom making whoopee like a pair of sea lions. I swear, thirty seconds into it I felt like my heart was gonna explode, and it took all of my strength to roll over onto my back before my knees gave out. The next thing I know, my wife is calling 9-1-1, telling the police that my ding-a-ling was about to explode! The paramedics show up and start packing ice all over my privates like a beer bottle in a fishing cooler.”
Dan grabbed the table as he felt himself falling out of his chair. Hugging his sides, he fought for his breath.
“After I recovered and explained to her what happened, she called my doctor and told him he better not do that again if he wanted to live past sundown. She said she’d shoot off his hacky sacks with her bow and arrow. Oh man, that was one long week. That’s when I realized that I needed something more than just a wife. And I got one, and men, when I tell you about this, you’re gonna want one, too.”
Everyone was on the edge of their seats as Greg the Mullet ran his fingers through his long mane of hair.
“I got myself a Stunt Wife.”
Laughter ensued.
“Just to be clear, a Stunt Wife isn’t a whore, so just settle down, Ladies and Men. No, a stunt wife is a woman that the man can hang around with doing all of the stuff he wants to do that his wife doesn’t want to do. Which—in my case—is just about everything. For example, they’ll go the ballgames, play poker, bake pot brownies, snow tube naked, race cars and go-carts, water ski, watch sports, shave yer back, hang out at the mall and ask people what time it is, join a dodge-ball team, go to races, ride roller coasters, and even learn to play the banjo. They make great designated drivers, too. But, just make sure you get one that is durable. I ordered mine from South Dakota, and she’s part Indian and part wolverine.” Greg shrugged. “I like to make sure she can handle herself in a scrap if she has to.”
The laughter had all but hit its limit.
“I’m Greg the Mullet! It’s been great being back at the Weasel’s Fanny. Be sure to tip yer waiters and waitresses! And remember, if you see a mullet … show some respect, we're pretty nice people.”
CHAPTER 19
Dan woke up the next morning feeling great. It was after 10 a.m. before he even got out of bed. The sheets were soft, the bed was warm, and not a sliver of sunlight made it through the heavy curtains of the bay window. He didn’t have anything to do other than reflect on the previous night. He had stuck around long enough to meet Willie James and Greg the Mullet, and both were pretty friendly, but pretty drunk, too. Willie had said, “You ain’t too bad for a white dude. At least you don’t look like that ass backward hillbilly over there. He’s funny, but is funky, too. Don’t do the funky thing; it don’t usually work out for white boys.”
That was about all Dan got
out of it, but at least it was encouraging. He just wished they had another show tonight, but it was only a single night thing for him as other names had been booked already. He was whistling as he got out of the shower and smiling while he was shaving. He had made people laugh; total strangers, a bunch of folks that didn’t know him, thought he was funny. He remembered when everybody used to think he was funny, not stand-up funny, but funny in general. That part had gotten away from him somehow.
Still, he was singing, “I think it’s gonna be a great day,” as he slipped on a pair of jeans, a faded T-shirt, and some loafers. Out the door he went, hungry, very hungry, and in dire need of a cup of coffee. He made it to the lobby just in time to see one of the housemen cleaning up the station that hosted the Continental breakfast. Maybe there’s some coffee left. He grabbed a cup and pulled the lever on the coffee canister. One swallow remained.
“Crap,” he said. He noticed a family nearby, crowded at a table with a pile of food: cereal, pastries, scrambled eggs, biscuits, sausage, and bacon were half-eaten and scattered everywhere. A mother and father in matching tennis suits and flip flops were sprawled out in the dining area like it was their living room. Two noisy teens in dripping wet bathing suits were snacking and yacking. The girl had a full cup of coffee in between her hands as her teeth chattered.
She was saying, “Daddy, my hands are cold! I need more coffee to keep them warm.”
That’s when Dan noticed the mostly full coffee cups, eight in all, sitting on the table. Then he noticed the juice boxes and soda cans, too.
The father replied, “Go get some more then, Honey. I’m reading.”
The droopy-eyed girl dripped all the way over, grabbed a cup and tried to fill it up. When no coffee came she went for the decaf. It was empty, too. That’s when Dan’s eye started to twitch. Of all the wasteful, thoughtless crap people could do, they always found a way to do it to him. The prissy girl was looking up at him with a funny look on her face. She sniffed as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.