True Comic Confessions, Part I

Years ago, when I was just starting my career as a stand-up comedian, I worked a club in Seattle, opening for a comic by the name of John Fox. He was not one of my favorite headliners, but he was a great crowd pleaser, and had a reputation amongst the comics as being a cocksman of the first order. Usually one of the three acts on the bill lived in the area, so the opening act would have a bedroom of his own, but due to some glitch in booking, all of us were from out of town, and I was stuck on the couch.

One night I was lying on my little couch, about to fall asleep, when John came in with two women he had picked up after the show. They turned on a light in the small kitchen, which was just behind my makeshift bed, and proceeded to party. I, of course, found this extremely annoying. But, in their defense, none of them knew I was there.

At one point, John excused himself and went to the bathroom, and the two tipsy bimbos began this insipid conversation:

“I hate it when a guy uses the word ‘bitch.' It’s so disrespectful.”

“I hate the word ‘cunt.' That’s even worse.”

I always wondered what the looks on their faces were, when out of the dark living room a man’s voice chimed in with, “Will you two cunts stop your bitching?!”