You know it’s going to be a good open mic night when you walk out onto the venue’s patio and there’s seven shit-faced males reenacting scenes from the night their leader broke his hand “beatin’ the shit out of that motherfucker Steve”.
After reconvening inside with their broken looking better halves, it became obvious that a long night of heckling was inevitable. I guess the anniversary of your friend’s suicide grants you a free pass to be a loud, obnoxious asshole. And while my fear of hecklers isn’t nearly as bad as it used to be, I still thought it best to forego trying out new material and appropriately adjusted my set to include poop and skipping (two things proven to work on inebriated retards). I figured if I could squeeze a couple easy laughs out of them, I’d burn out my time and escape their wrath. For the most part it worked, but it left me feeling conflicted and tool-ish. They may as well have been shooting at my feet while commanding me to dance. And it’s not like their taunts were anything groundbreaking: You’re not funny. Tell a joke. Boo. By far their strong suit was in their contradictory bumblings – like how they kept referring to the comics as “niggers” and “faggots” and then getting in uproar when the term “you people” was directed their way (they were all white). Especially noteworthy was when one of the men defended his woman’s honor after hearing the word Mexican. “What the fuck about Mexican – her baby is a part a Mexican!” This before the joke was even told.
So, just as it was looking like we were doomed to play the role of the Bully’s Bitches, four dudes rose the occasion: Corey Adam (No Bullshit Mediator), Justin Collucci (Instigator), John Conroy (Destroyer/Grave Pisser) and Phil Kolas (Bomb Diffuser). By nights end the would-be tormentors were doing what most heckler types do after they’ve had their intelligence absolutely decimated – walk around with clenched jaws and balled up fists whilst making empty threats under their breathe. In their defense it should be noted that one of them did kick a metal patio chair.
Never has such a moment of vicariously lived revenge felt so satisfying. Thanks guys – ‘Vive Willy’s!