It was open mic night at the comedy club, and Lex and his minion were at their table in the back, slowly draining the life from a bottle of tequila.
A half hearted round of applause roused him from his meandering thoughts.
“Why are we even doing this?” Said the minion, the last comic being particularly terrible.
Lex smirked, “I like the heat of the stage lights on my head. Makes my brain work.”
“Bull crap. You’re bald head looks like a grape up there on stage.” She tipped her empty cup at him, demanding more. “You’ve been at this longer than I’ve been alive. Really, why’re you still doing it?”
He scowled at her and poured another round in their plastic cups.
“I do it because they’re stupid people in this world, and someone has to tell them that they’re stupid, because most of ‘em are just too damn stupid to figure it out.”
She returned the scowl.
“How noble of you to so selflessly taken this great crusade upon your shoulders. You are a modern day martyr saint, a regular Thomas Aquinas.”
“Praise Jesus, God is good.” Lex emptied his cup in a single swallow. “I’m up next.”
I’m friends with a good number of local comics. They’re people that spend the time when you are sound asleep writing and scheming about ways to push the boundaries of humor, practicing their craft in smokey bars where people barely pay attention, and leading lives you’d barely believe. If you’re ever lucky enough to be in one of those bars, shut up and listen, because you’ll never forget what you’re about to see.