“How’s everyone doing tonight?,” asked the untalented, uninteresting, unctuous host of Central Pennsylvania’s least popular and most expensive comedy show. “Good? Great? Well, boy do we have a great show in store for you tonight. If you think you’ve already heard some of the jokes beforehand, it’s because you definitely have. We’ve been testing them out on our social media pages for weeks as a part of community outreach.”
“A few ground rules here at the Dead Horse…”
As the crowd filed in, he continued. “There’s a 12 drink minimum. What does that mean exactly? You don’t have to drink that much, in fact, we’d prefer you don’t. You just have to pay that much. Think of it as an investment in art of the future.”
“Who wants to laugh tonight? The first comic is a dear friend, so please put your hands together for Lee Harvey Oswalt.”
After a smattering of applause, the host knew it was time to bring up the first comic. He’s wearing overalls. Only two types of people wear overalls. Farmers and fashion models. This guy is neither.
“Thank you, Steve. Does anyone drive a car around here? Thought so. You’d surprised at the places I get crickets after asking that. Well, mine is in the shop right now, so instead of walking or running the risk of turning into one of those biker boobs, I got myself a horse. A real thoroughbred. I knew it would be slower, I just didn’t figure on how much slower. After twenty minutes I looked down and you know, the horse wasn’t breathing. I was still in the driveway. I was sold a dead horse. Imagine that.”
The host jump onto stage. “That’s enough of that, Lee. Our next guy you might remember from a few failed pilots and a recent cancellation. Here he is, the one and only, Dave Eggshell.”
“Appreciate it, Ben. I started gambling again. You people gamble? I went down to the track to bet the ponies. I thought I picked a winner. But my horse went up and died right out of the gate. So much for horsepower.”
The host was started to feel the heat. Not literally, since this joint had sent up a row of malfunctioning space heaters along the perimeter of the crowd. “Rounding out our show tonight is your favorite and mine, back from court-ordered isolation, Mr. Huey SK.”
“Hey Don, doing well, doing well. I will keep it quick tonight. I decided my eroding basketball skills were not good enough to challenge members of my own species. That’s why I’ve taken to playing dogs, cats and just last night, a horse. Yes. I beat a dead horse in H-O-R-S-E.”
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