Review: Broadway Comedy Club

“Do you like comedy?”

Usually we respond to such questions (shouted to us by a promotion-schilling vagabond) with one of three ready quips:

1. “No sir, we detest joy in all forms.”

2. “How can you ask that in light of the holocaust?”

3. “We’re not a tourist - get the fuck away from us and go back to NYU.”

The other day, when accosted on a jaunt through Times Square – we became flummoxed when trying to choose between #2 and #3 (we couldn’t tell if there were more tourists or Jews in the vicinity). In the end, our negatory response came out something like this - “Thou dramaturge – do not bewitch us with your tickets – we don’t want Anne Frank to get pissy in the annex.”

We ended up buying two promotions. Being witty is so exhausting.

Though comedy is usually one of those New York institutions we detest (i.e. live music, hipsters, “walking” places) we decided to give it a go. We headed over to the nearby Broadway Comedy club for some laughs.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the joke was on us (get it – that’s what they call a “punch line”). The room was small, the drinks were smaller, and the only thing that made us chuckle was the mania that was brought on when the second comic took the stage, and our flight or fight response kicked in.

And we fought – gentle reader. We stayed for the entire 60 minute set. Based on our experience, we’ve developed a new response for the promoters.

“Do you like comedy?”

“Sir – do you have any idea what you are doing to people? The humanity.”

Review: The Broadway Comedy Club – 318 West 53rd Street

Drink Minimum – 2 olives – What is the worse torture – watching a 37 year old “Comedian” do an impression of a baby velociraptor or spending $8 on a mandatory two beers? Well, we’d have to go with the raptor (give it up buddy – dinosaurs can’t pull off knock-knock jokes), but those drinks sure are pricey.

The one guy in the back who laughed at everything – 1 olive – Apparently, Mr. 400 lbs hasn’t met any joke that he doesn’t find hilarious. Though, we were “laughing with him” when his cackle turned into a wheeze/coughing fit.

The MC – 2 olives – On the night we went, the show was hosted by a duo who sang “yo-mamma” jokes to the rhythms of Nirvana. The concept kind of worked – we only wanted to rip the guitar out of their hands and murder them for 7/10th of the act.

Drink minimum (revised) – 4 olives – After a night of stand up, it was only the drinks that kept us from curling up in a fetal position and weeping for humanity. Perhaps $16 wasn’t too much to spend on retaining that last ember of hope for the human race. We’ll have to think about it.

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