(An emcee strolls onto the stage in front of the drawn curtain.)
MC: Good evening ladies and gentlemen and non-binary people. It’s my great honour to raise the curtain on a new theatre in downtown Ste-Adèle, Quebec henceforth to be known as the Loon Theatre.
(Packed house audience applauds)
And who better to set the tone than the Bad Girl Wannabe of Comedy herself, La J . . .
(Emcee turns to face the curtains, raises his arms, and the curtains rise. Emcee exits as La J appears. Applause as La J takes centre stage. She’s slim, wearing a navy blue round-neck sweater dress, black stockings and respectable pumps. Below-the-shoulder-length blonde hair is parted in the middle. She’s wearing understated makeup, red lipstick.)
Whoo-hoo! Yay me! Yay you! . . . What a fine-looking audience you are tonight! . . .
OK, maybe not all of you look so fine, but that’s what we’re supposed to say, right? It’s politically correct, and I’m nothing but, eh?
But rest assured, you are NOT the sacred cows on the altar of comedy tonight. You’re way down on that list . . . We’ll get to you eventually.
Just kidding. You’re all stunningly beautiful people . . . I would date each and every one of you, being the multi-sexual person that I am.
OK, I’ll leave that one right there . . . Just call me, OK?
(Laughter, with a chorus of “We will!!!”)
Wow . . . I can’t tell you what a great honour it is to be making my comedic debut on the grand opening night at the Loon Theatre in beautiful downtown Ste-Adele . . .
Well, OK, it’s not exactly my comedic debut. My real debut was censored . . . Which is sooo cool!
What an honour is it to be censored. Isn’t that every comedian’s dream come true?
And my dream came true on my first gig!!! Whoo-hoo!!!
(La J does a little dance, audience laughs, applauds)
OK, I know, I know. I need bigger dreams . . .
So, let’s move on from the name that must never be mentioned then, eh? We’ll get back to they — see what I did there — another time. Hey, I don’t know what pronouns the name that must never be mentioned uses. I’m pronoun correct, too. You hear that Twitterites! Back off!
So, let’s talk about the sacred cows behind sacred cows like the name that must never be mentioned. . .
Let’s talk about the golden calfs . . .
Let’s talk about CEOs …
Hey, that wasn’t even a punchline.
Why does everybody laugh at CEOs, anyway?
(Giggles from the audience.)
There’s gotta be something good about CEOs. Umm, let’s see now. They work hard, don’t they?
OK, I’m being charitable. Give me points for that, will you.
You know it’s gotta be lonely at the top for CEOs. I mean, they can’t join the great unwashed in the lunchroom, can they? Have you ever seen a CEO sit down beside a cleaner, open their lunch box, start crunching on celery and start a conversation?
“Hey, Hank, how’s the toilet cleaning coming along today? Not too dirty, I hope.”
Nope. It’s too risky. The CEO might catch some toilet germs and, ohmygawd, what would happen if they got sick and stayed home?
Umm . . . hmm.
OK, I’m overstating again. Nobody would notice.
But you’ve got to give them credit for enthusiasm now. CEOs who’ve been stuck at home during the pandemic are champing at the bit — yes, champing! Not chomping! I’m a grammatically correct comedian, too.
But I digress . . .
Yes, they’re champing at the bit to get back to their offices.
What’s up with that?
Well, for one, their offices are probably twice the size of their homes, beautifully furnished and as neat as a pin. No kids’ toys to trip over, no partners in curlers still in their housecoats at 11 in the morning. Heck, no CEO still in their housecoat at 11 in the morning. . .
What, you think no one wears curlers, anymore? You haven’t been to Wal-mart recently, have you?
Hey, the CEO’s office is the ultimate in sensory deprivation chambers. You can’t buy that kind of peace and quiet, which they don’t need to do, anyway. They’re being paid to soak it up! They’re the highest-paid employee in the corporation, and they get a sensory deprivation office, too!
And they get an annual performance bonus!
Man, if somebody paid me that kind of money and gave me a sensory deprivation office and a performance bonus at the end of the year, I’d shut the fuck up right now. I’d be totally invisible, too!
OK, I’m overstating again . . .
It’s not all about bliss in the sensory deprivation office. There are fleeting moments of visibility. The stroll from the elevator with a nod here and there, maybe a “hello”, even a “how are you?” There are meetings, phone calls, long business lunches . . .
And a freakin’ sensory deprivation office!!
Imagine if all office workers had sensory deprivation offices . . .
Not a freakin’ thing would get done.
Nothing would be produced. Zero output.
No, we gotta pack ’em into offices like jellybeans so they’ll produce more. How many of you were office jellybeans before the pandemic hit? Raise your hands.
(Laughter. Lots of hands are raised)
I bet you’ve been champing — not chomping! — at the bit to get back to the office, too, eh?
(Laughter and a chorus of “No”s)
Oh, c’mon, you know you gotta make the CEO proud. You gotta make him shine, right!!!
It’s worth the commute, the traffic jams, the parking expense . . . the office cold, the office flu . . . and, yah, let’s keep being politically correct, the office coronavirus, too.
Hey, no matter what it takes, we gotta make that CEO shine, everyone. It’s your duty as good corporate citizens. So, mask up and keep washing your hands . . . and get your sorry butts back to the office . . .
Your CEO needs you!!!
(La J does a little curtsey)
Thank you, everyone. You’re the absolute best audience I ever had . . .
Good night. See you next time!
(La J exits the stage to applause and the emcee returns to centre stage. . .)
Note to those reading in email format: I’m not sure if you see the category labels that appear on the home page above each entry. If not, the category for this post, and future posts in the series, is “Comedy Night at the Loon Theatre.”