To Mixed Reviews

Estacada, OR - ViewPointe Bar & Grill

The "Grill" in the name is a formality. It's a bar. A smokey, weird one, where every third Saturday is the town re-enactment of "The Accused" and no women are allowed, if'n you get my drift. I had to drive a winding, wet road through the middle of nowhere and what I hope was a Civil War re-enactment. As you can tell, Estacada isn't quite that progressive. I did come up with new slogans for them, however:
Estacada: Where The Men Are Men And The Women Are Bruised
and
Estacada: How Things Would Be If The South Had Won

Perhaps the residents who were at the bar were good people. Who knows? They didn't give me a chance to let it ride. People, for the most part, are middle-ground, and act with kindness to their fellow humans when called for, as long as it's not some comic trying to build an act who's interrupting a chicken-fried steak-fried chicken-steak & Ketchup/Mayo-gravy on fries! Hoo-weee. braaaaaaaaaaaaaap

There were a fair number of people in the venue when I arrived. The next guy to come in announced his presence after noticing a family of his friends (Three couples, including a mother & daughter), by shouting "Well HO-LEE SHEE-IT!" Indeed, fellow in the "I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am" T-shirt!

I then stood on a weird pulpit thing that may have been a stage at one time, when human cargo was still a viable form of currency. Jesus Fish jokes, flat. Jokes about big vaginas... siiiiigh... fantastic. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

I got out with my life, 7 laughs in 30 minutes, and got to watch Dwight Slade puppeteer the room. He could have killed for 45, but Dwight entertained himself much of the time. Masterful, professional, and hysterical.


Oregon City - Wichita Bar & Good Times, Saturday Night

After a hapless performance I was ready to uncork the humorist's equivalent of a night-cover airstrike. Just as I powered up and got into the air I took some FLAK from the front row. Two pipes, muzzle flash suppressed by Jack Daniels to my 2 o'clock, 11 o'clock dampened by an Absolut fog. I hadn't even cleared the base and things were getting soggy. Nothing to do but fire back and show them how I got these stripes.

Alright, enough cheese. These two monkies were in sad shape. The other 20 hours of their Saturday, these two people could be the nicest, sweetest kids to ever clock a shift at HotDog-On-A-Stick and knock back a Jumbo Beefaroni before heading to the Wichita. And they may be able to drink like Kennedys any other night of the weekend. But last Saturday night they were belligerent. I got two sentences out before they started asking questions and mentioning dildos and fingerless gloves (?!?!).

The girl cooled it after a return volley. The guy had no clue. I asked his name and he said "F*ckface." I figured it was Cherokee or some-such, and showed respect. Cableknit turtleneck, black cargo pants, fingerless gloves, shaved head, you get the picture. He was a Mike's Hard JuiceBox away from barfing near the pooltable, possibly into a cargo pocket or a woman with "-lene" at the end of her name.

Anyway, that set went much better, I worked in a couple of callbacks and did what I could to learn & survive. It's not a place to build the kind of act I want to build, where there would be some required reading to get the whole thing, but no sweat, overall. I had fun and got three new bits out of the shows.

And Portland's new slogans should be:
Portland: Hope You Like Books!
Portland: What The F Else Are You Gonna Do?
Portland: We Dare You To Try And Get Out.
Portland: Yeah, We Know... Sorry.

Alright, that's enough of that.
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And this was a teaser for a story on KING-5 news at 11...
"A story of amazing survival, listen to why doctors say this 10 year-old girl... should be dead!"
Whomever wrote that, okay'ed it for broadcast, and said it should have a heel dropped on their windpipe. The girl's 10 years old, and her heartwarming story on TV is prefaced with the doctor's giving an under-over in the deadpool.
Dennis Bounds, grow a scrote and say "No" now and again.
And don't forget to check out Seattle's Favorite Klepto, the Decrepit Canary Skeleton!
And why not Joel McHale, all gussied up now on E!'s "The Soup!"

The Kings Of Leon... please, can you stop loving yourselves for a second? Everything that's wrong with "new rock" begins and ends in the ironic mustache of that one Followill brother.


If ya need me, I'll be entering the bar shortly. Shades on my head, jacket over the shoulder, Dingo boots on, nose ring glistening, and a totally retro outfit workin'... Hells yeah.
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