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 make me nervous.
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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