Excerpt: Wrecking Balls by Joe Giambrone (Chapter 20)

...
Charleston ripped at the front door, and he shot out toward his car.
Silently he slid in through the rear door of Chuckleyux, where he spotted
none other than the stunner, Amanda Winters, standing alone backstage about to
step up the three stairs.
He crept toward her in a haze.
In a sleek dress, high heels, a bow in her hair, she may have ignored his
approach intentionally, but he couldn't tell.
Amanda.
Charles.
You're back in Cali... He gazed awkwardly. You excited about September

4th?
She exhaled, disinterested. Whatever do you mean? Her eyes peered
past the edge of the curtain. Her face remained stone.
Oh, nothing. If you want to play it like that.
Play? She turned with constrained fury. I'll show you how I play, right
now. And I have no idea why the hell I'm opening for the likes of you. And neither
will they.
The PA crackled to life. Please welcome to the stage, the young, the
talented, Amanda Winters.
Game, set, match, done. She sauntered up the few stairs to stage-level
and straight toward the feisty crowd.
Charleston studied her entire performance from backstage, with mounting
dread. Amanda had the entire room roaring for most of her set.
She said, Every new Neanderthal I end up with wants to stick his flesh toy
straight up my little virgin butt! Am I right, ladies?
The women of the club exploded and hung together in a chorus.
I'm thinking about getting a tattoo on my ass of a 'Do Not Enter' sign.
Howls piled upon one another.
These porn-addled miscreants just don't have any class. I swear, the next
simian who asks about my anus, I'll turn it right back on him. After you! And shove
my fist straight up his asshole. See how he likes it... But with my luck I'd get the
one guy who's into that shit. Then what?
Red-faced girls and disturbed guys squirmed at their tables.
Amanda commanded the stage like a warrior queen. Also, girlsyou need
to keep a sock handy, and some duct tape, right by the side of the bed. On a
nightstand is perfect. As soon as he broaches the subject of your do-not-enter
sign you stick the sock in his mouth, wrap the duct tape around his head a few
times. Be sure to leave a hole for breathing. Avoid the felony charges. And say,
'Do the God damned job you're here to do. Let's go!' She pointed right down to
her privates.
A particularly buzzed girl roared much louder than the rest of the club.
Some laughed at her.
If I wasn't dripping wet all over the bed I'd kick his sorry ass out the door,
frankly. Amanda smirked and claimed every part of the stage. She strolled back
for a sip of water.
What I'm saying is, if you want to be the teacher's pet you'd better be a
decent student. Don't you idiots know to lick the alphabet for God's sake? Less
talk, more tongue.
She had them craving her every musing.
And we're particularly fond of w's and z's, so put the effort in. Learn how
to spell, doofus.
Her sparkling green eyes caught sight of Charleston in the wings. She
grinned and twisted away.
And the next guy I'm intimate with who calls me 'dude,' fucking 'dude,' I
swear to Christ! I am gonna go ninja kick-boxer on his little nut sack. That dude
shit makes me so awnree. Not horny. Awnree. That's a bad thing.
The packed Chuckleyux crowd remained in hysterics.
It's just that I'm a good girl, said Amanda. Obviously. I just want a nice
boy. Is that so difficult? But he better be packing at least some heat, a decent
caliberthat's not too much to ask.
She strolled along the front of the stage to assess the contenders.
 But the worst one is when they just give you three minutes of their
precious time, and then they flop down on top of you. Oh my stars! That's killin'
time.
She laughed and returned the mic to its stand. I'm such a slut lately.
She bit her lip and paused.
I wasn't always. I just don't know what the hell I'm doin' with my life
anymore. Why am I even up here, guys?
A deep, gruff man from the dim back of the room yelled, For the sex!
Amanda zeroed in on him, and pointed her index finger. Oh no, you are
not gettin' lucky tonight buddy. Forget it.
The room again roared.
Charleston gazed with his mouth agape. He'd never killed like that. Lucky
to squeak through without being challenged by some drunk, it dawned on him
that he needed to reinvent his act from the ground up, or he would be shot out of
the sky on the 4th.
Where the hell was I? said Amanda.
Oh! Oh yeah. When some real American hero blows his gooey jizz load in
a minute and a half, and you're lying underneath him thinkin', 'Did I just fuck this
complete loser imbecile?' Oh my God. What does that make me???
Charleston ascended the three wooden steps, yanked magnetically toward
the curtain's edge.
When that happens, Amanda said in a conspiratorial hush, what I'm
tempted to do Legs wide, she squatted lower. ...Is to stand up over the
depleted Romeo and let go a gigantic hot piss all over his retarded naked body,
yelling LOSER! LOSER!!! Pssssss...
She couldn't continue because of the furor. Feigning innocence, she
composed herself and adjusted her blouse. Not for sexual pleasure mind you. I'm
not a freak. It would be strictly pissing for vengeance sake. That's okay? I mean I
might be tempted to touch my clitoris while I'm doing it, just for curiosity's sake.
But I mean that would definitely punch my freak card, and I sure as hell wouldn't
be tellin' you folks about it.
The laughs and applause kept coming. Finally she laughed with them.
 My name is Amanda Winters, and I'm a good girl. So Neanderthals fuck
off! That's my time. Thanks for comin' out, everybody.
Whistles and shouts persisted for a minute, as Amanda delayed and
meandered at the back of the stage. Happy in the spotlights she waved out at her
people.
She then pranced right past Charleston's boner. Oh, good luck, she said
with a catty grin, as she disappeared down and around a corner.
Before he could form a thought, the club's manager, over at the
microphone, noticed him. And this next guy is rarin' to go. Give it up everybody
for, this next comedian's name is, Charleston Cranston!
The audience already in full gush welcomed him to the stage. He gawked
out, his mind a blank wall. His fingers groped automatically for his shirt buttons,
and he unbuttoned.
The women roared, and Charleston stared off in a hypnotic trance. He
peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the stage at his feet.
That Amanda is some piece of comic cotton candy, huh? He stood
shirtless before the hundred and fifty people.
Whew!
The crowd simmered from the buzz she'd already built up.
Charleston held for another moment. Winters is a real wildcat, let me tell
ya. Literally.
He turned around to face the back wall.
She left claw marks down the length of my back! Her handiwork. I swear
to God. He pointed back over his shoulders. Faint scars remained, as he flexed
his back and showed them off.
Uncomfortable bursts erupted.
It was some kind of she-devil rodeo, he said, and he returned to face
them. I wasn't even a human being anymore. I was her steak dinner, that she
rides into the ground.
A great cheer.
Whew. Yeah. 'Good girl.' Right. Believe that shit.
The audience blared.
 Ah, where's my shirt? Charleston hunted and retrieved it. Back beyond
the side curtain he saw no sign of her.
So how the hell are you doing, L.A?
A girl whistled up at him as he buttoned. Hands adjusted the shirt, and he
took a moment to think.
Someone once told me 'So what? You just tell jokes,' like it's not
important. Right? Like it's nothing. You understand what I'm telling you guys? That
this doesn't matter. All this. You feel me? Denigrating the entire art form.
He peered down on the people, table after table in rapid succession.
Now. I loved this person dearly who said that. Okay? But... fuck that noise!
This is what the world remembers. This is history. Right here, how our whole
society thinks about shit. Reality. This microphone. Real free speech, not that
canned corporate bullshit they spoon feed you everywhere else.
The crowd settled into a contemplative focus.
He shrugged. Isn't that why you're here? ...So anyway. We got any stoners
in the house, 420 people?
A roar.
Yeah. And they're pretty loud too, huh? Energetic?
More buzz.
It pisses me off that stereotype about the lazy pothead who sits around
and stuffs his face, can't do anything. I call bullshit. I call propaganda.
The cannabis crowd cheered.
Schwarzenegger, Pumping Iron, high as a motherfucker, and he's
pumping 400 pounds sixteen hours a day. How's that for your fucking
stereotype?
Rapport with the crowd.
I know a guy ran a twenty-six mile marathon on weed. What it ishere's
what it is. If you're a lazy overfed shlub who doesn't do anything when you're
straight, and you get high, there's no miraculous transformation. You're still a
useless piece a shit. You're just a stoned, lazy piece a shit. Don't blame the weed.
It's you, you fucking waste of oxygen.
Devious smirks, glints in eyes. Charleston suddenly commanded the stage.
 You know I was also thinking, wouldn't the U.S. be a hell of a lot more
interesting if hand grenades were legal? Like if you could buy them at the 7-11?
They're arms right? Right to bear arms?

Wrecking Balls
A tale of stand-up comedians behaving badly.
Now available.

http://www.joegiambrone.us/wrecking-balls-2/