Chasing Andy
(I will never
work with a fuckin' gay midget comedian impersonator
ever again)
I was nearly asleep when the vile
immigrants returned.
"Housekeeping! Housekeeping!" Tap,
tap, tap, tap, tap.
I scrambled to the door.
"I don't really need housekeeping,
now. I need sleep. Sleep and porcelain."
"Como?"
"No, como. Duermo. Necesito domir."
"No housekeeping?"
"No! No housekeeping."
God fuckin' dammit. I had spent all
afternoon barfing into the porcelain abyss and all I
wanted was a half hour of sleep before the show.
What could be worse?
"Riiiinnnnnnggggggg."
"Jasper."
"Hey. I think I've found your
midget for you."
"No shit? Where is he?"
"He's downstairs at the bar. Should
we come up?"
"No, I'll come down."
Show time. The Net Wits -- an
online humor writing organization -- was in town for
its first-ever convention and I had agreed to
provide the PA system and emcee the Saturday night
show at the beautiful Town Lake Holiday Inn's
Sunflower Room. All the performers in the show were
practicing Net Wits, but I wanted to make one
exception. I wanted to hire a dwarf to impersonate
gay midget comedian Renaldo Murali.
There's no such thing as gay midget
comedian Renaldo Murali, but I'll get into that
later.
The night before, I had tried to
score a midget on Sixth Street in downtown Austin,
but came up empty. Desperate, I went to a comedy
club called the Velveeta Room and asked the door man
if he knew of any midget comedians.
"I don't know. You look a little
drunk," he said.
"Sure, I'm drunk. But I'll pay
fifty dollars for a midget. Do you think a sober guy
would do that?"
"We don't have any midget
comedians."
"Do you have any short comedians?"
"Yeah, one. I'll go get him for
you."
A guy in a baseball cap appeared.
He looked to be about five-foot-six.
"Do you want a gig pretending to be
a gay midget comedian?" I asked. (Long pause.)
"No, I don't think so," he said.
"Are you drunk?"
"Look. The gig pays fifty dollars
and it's tomorrow night."
"I'll probably make $70 tomorrow
night here at the Velveeta Room."
Right. I wanted a gay midget
comedian, not a lying sack of shit comedian. No act
on Sixth Street makes $70 a night, unless it's a
20-piece mariachi band.
But today was a new day. Will found
my boy. As I walked into the Dabber's Bar at the
Holiday Inn, I saw Will sitting with an elf-like guy
at his table.
"Here's your midget," Will said
triumphantly.
"Stand up."
"What?"
"Stand up." He stood up. Definitely
not a midget. He looked about five-foot-three and
was blond and Nordic looking, especially in his
beige wool hat. I was hoping for something a bit
more Hispanic. But he'd do, given the short notice.
"Okay, look. Here's the story. I'm
emceeing this show for The Net Wits. Early on in the
show, I want to introduce you as gay midget comedian
Renaldo Murali. Are you gay?"
"No."
"You're not a midget either, but
we'll make it work."
I told him the whole story. About
six months ago, I announced to The Net Wits that
besides producing lesbian comedy albums, I had now
signed a brand new act -- a gay midget comedian
named Renaldo Murali. I told them I was looking for
material for my client, so could they please e-mail
me right away with some jokes.
The whole thing was a hoax, but
much to my surprise they bought it. The next day I
found 30 jokes in the e-mail, all of them bad. That
night, I sent a new e-mail to The Net Wits that
read, "I'm sorry to inform you that gay midget
comedian Renaldo Murali died in his sleep last
night." Fuck me, the next day I got 20 e-mails
offering heartfelt condolences. These Net Wits wore
"Kick Me" signs on their backs.
I hit on a new plan for the
convention. In the middle of the show, I would
introduce Renaldo and tell everyone I had only faked
his death. Here's how I wrote the bit:
Me: Our next guest is renowned gay midget
comedian, Renaldo Murali!
Renaldo: Hey, everybody. Suck my dick!
Me: I hope you'll forgive me, but I faked
Renaldo's death. Why? Because I didn't have the
heart to tell you how fuckin' bad the jokes you
wrote for him were, right Renaldo?
Remaldo: Oh, yeah, dude. They were real, real
bad. Suck my dick!
Me: He's got another gig tonight and has to
run. But let's give one more big hand to Renaldo
Murali.
Renaldo: Good night everybody. And suck my
dick!
Sure, the act would baffle most of
the people there. But it would be outstandingly
funny for the four or five people who were in on the
joke. Besides, it was so Andy Kaufmann.
"So do you think you can do this?"
I asked the Renaldo wannabe.
"Yeah, I can do that."
"Great. The next part of the job is
to help me move the PA equipment from my hotel room
to the Sunflower Room. Follow me, boys."
Will and the NBA-styled midget
followed me up to my room. When I got there, I made
a stupid mistake.
"I'm going to pay you guys in
advance. There's twenty dollars for you and I'm
giving twenty dollars to Will for setting this up
and helping me move equipment. Will, you grab the
amp and Renaldo -- if you don't mind, I'll call you
Renaldo -- you can take the CD player."
We headed down to the Sunflower
Room and set up the equipment for the night's show,
which was less than three hours away. I told the
midget to hang out in the bar until someone came and
got him around 8:15. That's why I paid in advance. I
couldn't just ask him to wait around for three hours
doing nothing.
Noooooooooo, much better to have an
obnoxious, paranoid, drunken midget instead. But I'm
getting way ahead of myself.
After securing the equipment, I
went up to my room to barf my guts out some more and
afterward moved the remaining equipment to the
Sunflower Room. At about 6 p.m., I went to see how
the midget was doing.
"Are you ready?"
"I was thinking about it, and I
just don't think it's all that funny."
Hmmm. I glared at him and thought
about slapping the beige ski-cap off his elf-like
head.
"Look. It'll be funny," I said.
"Don't worry," Will said. "He's
just fucking with you."
At 7 p.m., an hour before the show,
I checked with him again.
"I don't know man. The more I think
about it the more I think it's not going to be all
that funny."
I shot a look at Will.
"Don't worry, he's just fucking
with you again."
"Cool," I said. But the chatty
little troll was starting to stick in my craw a bit.
At 8 p.m., I went on stage to start
the show. I introduced a few acts and about 15
minutes later, I sent Will to the bar to retrieve
the midget. When I got on the stage, I announced in
a somber, show bizzy voice, "Ladies and gentleman. I
have a special treat for you tonight. Let's have a
big hand for gay midget comedian Renaldo Murali!"
I turned to the door and nothing. I
waited a few seconds and still nothing. I turned to
the audience and felt like I was standing there
naked while they all held 45-caliber pistols lasered
at my dick.
"He's a little shy. I'll try again.
Let's have a big Net Wits welcome for -- Renaldo
Murali!"
Nothing again. This time, I lost
it. I stormed off the stage and ran out the door
yelling, "Fuckin' cocksucker midget! Where the fuck
are you?"
The evil elf stood at the far end
of the hall making faces at me. I see. You want to
play rough, do you?
I started after him, but the
bastard skipped back to the bar. I thought about
pursuing him, but remembered I had a show to run.
After a few more acts, it was time
for intermission. I headed to the bar looking for my
erstwhile gay midget. He'd be bloody well gay by the
time I got through with him.
I found him at a table talking to a
blond, yuppie couple. I went over and grabbed him by
the collar.
"Look, you fuckin' cocksucker
motherfucker, give me my twenty dollars back."
"No," he said. "I get that for
helping you move equipment."
The yuppie coupled laughed. Is this
what yuppies do when frightened?
I thought about smashing his face
on the table, but I didn't want to spend the night
in jail. I could just imagine the headlines:
"Internet columnist Mike Jasper beats the living
shit out of gay midget comedian." Not good. I
decided to talk to the bartender instead.
"You better keep an eye on that
guy, because he ripped me off for twenty dollars."
I always tip bartenders well, so he
took me seriously and summoned the manager. Then
Will went over and talked to him. Soon, the midget
came over and apologized. He told me he had suffered
a bad bout of stage fright and gave me my twenty
dollars back. Apparently, Will was his ride for the
night and it was a long walk home.
"What's your name, anyway? I never
got it?" I asked.
"Andy." Well that figures, I
thought.
After the show, someone who looked
suspiciously like comedian Joe Ditzel came up to me
and said, "Great job with the midget bit. You really
had me convinced there was someone outside the door.
Very Andy Kaufmann."
"Yeah," I said. "Andy was a big
influence on that one."
A week later, I was walking down
Congress Boulevard with my girlfriend when I spied
the perfect Renaldo Murali. He was Hispanic, about
four-foot-six, smoked a cigarette and wore a
Hawaiian shirt. As we walked by, I turned and
shouted, "Where in the hell were you last week?" He
turned around, cocked his head quizzically, then
flipped me the bird.
Was this guy perfect or what?
* * *
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can
read anything else into it, you're on your own.
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