Chasing Andy
(I wil 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. Copyright 2000 by Mike Jasper.