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Airline Food; What's up with that? (Open)
Topic Started: Aug 19 2015, 08:37 PM (1,040 Views)
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"Hiii!" Irene also heartily cheered along with the audience, though Noah's age obviously wasn't much of a revelation. Though to be fair, the eternal sunshine of Irene's spotty mind could let some pretty drastic things slip.

But man, Noah had some points. Irene wasn't much of a comedy buff, too much visual stimulus degraded the touch-and-go wiring of her brain. She preferred watching things where it wasn't one person in plain getup pacing around a stool with a bottle of water on it. So she wasn't too aware of the MO of stand-up being 'culturally relevant' humor. She was still firmly entrenched in the neolithic era of children's slapstick, at least to some degree. Noah's pithy observations speaking to her was out of left field, the speaking point of what had hitherto been a fairly routine chance encounter. In other words, aw shit, her mind was about to be blown.

That reminded her though, gotta leave that tip. Under? Over? Irene could have calculated the proper amount off hand with ease, but she didn't remember the actual percentage. Just throw down a ten spot. That would probably do it. She shoved the fresh and laundered bill under her now-eviscerated potato basket, tucking it in like the precious baby it was to the poor underpaid staff.

"... but I've got fresh tire marks on my back telling me I should have lent my classmate a spare mechanical pencil during yesterday's math test."

Oh shit poor Noah- no wait Irene you dork that's just hyperbole. He'd probably only been run over by a rolling backpack, as opposed to a full-blown automotive. What was Mad Max? More references lost to the sand-blasted annals of Irene's culturally-disrespectful mind. It sounded like some kinda apocalyptic work. Like 1984, maybe. Wait, had she even read that? Sheesh, English class had hardly been the high-point of her previous academic years. She'd probably at least read Shakespeare at some point. Maybe even Tolstoy.

Mental disarray aside, Irene giggled lightly, light tones blending into chorale-disarray with the other timbres of the audience voicing their approval for Mr. Whitley.

"... Before, you could just go to the DMV to see people who were miserable 24/7, but now you don't even have to leave your house." Another laugh. Irene got the internet part though, that one earned a snicker of a whoop from her. Internet these days. Maybe someday she'd actually know why everyone thought the DMV was so funny.
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"But while the Internet is good for expression and catharsis," Noah continued, "there is some danger to using it for relief. I have this friend, her name is Pina. We've known each other for about, um, two years or so. Two years sounds right. Give or take a few nights strung out on Five Hour Energy during a Golden Girls marathon, and yeah, I'd say that's how long we've known each other.

"Anywho, so my friend Pina came to me and was like, 'Heeey, Noaaaah.'"

Noah's mouth fell slackjawed as he started to draw out his voice as he gave his best Pina Bucket voice, all while putting his free hand on his hip and bending his shape to look like a crooked "S." Several days ago, when he was trying to come up with the jokes for his routine, it occurred to him to bring Pina in as a figure for whom he can tell fake anecdotes for. She could be his version of Margaret Cho's grandmother. Plus, it would allow him to disguise embarrassing stories about himself as if they happened to some crazy girl from Corncob, Tennessee.

"Yeah, that's what she sounds like," he quickly explained when the audience reacted to the PBR-induced slur that was Pina's voice. "Sorry, she's from the deep south. She grew up thinking Hee-Haw was high-brow and Colonel Sanders was a Civil War Hero.

"Anyways, so my friend Pina was like 'Heeey, Noaaaah. I want to start, um, one of those web shows. Be real famous and such.' So I asked her what kind of show she wanted to do and she wanted to do comedy. Now, I should tell you all that Pina's idea of comedy is very different from your and mine. I've heard it described as 'awkward and offensive,' but most times, it's been described in more concrete terms like 'get off the stage!' followed by a glass bottle being thrown at her head. I will say that the crowd at Cheryl's that night was much more different from this one, so thank you for not turning my face into a stained glass mural. Plastic surgery is expensive and I don't have Obamacare.

"So she comes over to my house because I have a computer, a camcorder, a tripod, costumes, lighting equipment, sound equipment, and other items for filming. Don't ask why I have any of that. Let's just say I'm exploring options in case the comedy thing doesn't work out.

"Pina tells me she wants to shoot a video of us talking, so I ask her what she wants to talk about. We're both celebrity conscious, so she wants to do a show talking about celebrities, such as their fashion and movie reviews and such. It's basically Fashion Police, but instead of having a long-faced, cantankerous, strung out she-witch as the host, Fashion Police had Joan Rivers."

Noah paused to let that joke set in. He had one last bit planned for the routine, and this was what would make or break his whole performance. The tale of The Pina Bucket Show.
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The internet was good for expression, totes. Who even knew where Irene would have been today without her definitely age-appropriate Tumblr? Or one of the many roleplay side blogs with poorly copy-pasted CSS formatting? Man, she was really gelling with what Noah was laying down. This had to be what they called real talk. Surely Golden Girls was a routine reference in twenty-first century discussions, right? Irene and Asimah had watched a few episodes of the old serial together, and Irene considered it as relevant as anything else she'd ever watched. That was to say, it probably wasn't relevant at all.

But ugh, that voice. Disjointed memories of Irene's beef wellington boiled over into the forefront of her brains, as the dull-ache of 'dammit Noah' returned to life. The bitch from Greenbean, Tennessee. Irene's mortal enemy, or at least one among many. The girl caught in the rain, Miss Pina Colada. At least she didn't look like an offensive stereotype yet, because was strikingly similar in appearance to Noah Whitley. But any moment now the makeup would be seeping in rivulets from the pores, she could already see it.

Man, and she was just getting into it to. Way to use a hackneyed crutch. The audience was laughing, but all Noah got from Irene's sector was a grumbles worth of booing and an evil eye. Lost in the crowd, probably, but at least the non-sent message existed. It wasn't about sending a message, it was about being unreasonably offended. Like, in theory, she got that Noah wasn't really doing anything especially off this time. Comedians pulled out the cheesy impressions all the time, not like she knew that, but it was at least fair proprietary even to the uninformed. She just really had a long-standing, deep-seated, old-as-the-Earth-and-Planck-epoch grudge over the nubile Bucket and her infuriatingly hilarious demeanor. Irene was still giggling, even. It was just a breathless, flushed, glare of a giggle.

"Heeey, Noaaaah. I want to start, um, one of those web shows. Be real famous and such."

Yeah, but your webshow suuuuucks. Irene did briefly relish the thought of being the lobber of the glass bottle of justice and eliminating an affront to her sensibilities in a shower of shiny and jagged particulates. But no, she wasn't really that kind of girl. Maybe if it were like in the old school Acme cartoons and all she'd do was inflict humorously non-factor injury upon him. Hey, was that a witty observation? Irene bet she could have taken the stage with the mental comedy running a marathon through her brain at that moment. She definitely would have left the audience breathless.

"Let's just say I'm exploring options in case the comedy thing doesn't work out."

Aaaaaand there goes the innuendo, soaring overhead and leaving contrails for conspiracy theorists for decades to come. Noah definitely had the audience, the room was pretty warm, but Irene felt absolute zero. Only a warped sense of stubborn obligation kept her butt welded to her chair with brackets and rivets. The bartender idly asked if she wanted anything else, she brusquely brushed him off with an irate grunt, leading him to shrug off the suddenly rude blonde.
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"So Pina comes to my house to film the show. We would have filmed it at her house, but we ruled it out pretty quickly. Pina's broke, so she lives in an abandoned atomic bomb testing bunker out in the desert, and she has enough trouble fighting off coyotes, mountain lions, and the mutants from The Hills Have Eyes to try and film a web show there. She also doesn't have air conditioning and when I get sweaty, I look like I dived into a pool of bacon grease, so I vetoed her home instantly.

"So we're in my room, I've got all the equipment set up, the mics work perfectly, we review the script for the show, but right before we start filming, Pina tells me she has doubts about the show. She's like 'Noaaah, I don't know if I can do this. I mean, I'm so nervous.' I was worried that Pina wasn't going to be able to perform, so I gave her some tips to perform without caring how anyone would possibly view your performance. I call it 'The Gary Busey Method.'

"Step 1: Forget people are watching you. For Pina, this is a little hard since people tend to look at her anywhere she goes. This isn't helped because she's usually lying on the ground in a puddle of some kind, but if she can learn to ignore traffic crossing signals, she could learn to ignore an audience.

"Step 2: Talk and talk, while only slightly remembering what you're doing. If you're trying to be funny, just try to leave space after every important thing you say in hopes people fill it with laughter."

Noah lowered the mic, averted his gaze to the ceiling, and began to tap his foot. After five seconds, he continued to speak.

"Step 3: Hope it all congeals into something worthwhile. If not, just pray there are no consequences to your actions. For Pina, consequences usually mean getting thrown face first in the dumpster behind Cheryl's, so she's in good hands in my room. Well, better hands at least. I don't have a dumpster, but believe me, Pina's used to leaving my house directly through the windows.

"Fortunately, Pina did all of that, and our show is a hit, averaging about 800 views per video. Yes, I have about twenty-two videos on my channel and around 17,500 views total from around 140 subscribers. At this rate, it will take me about fifteen years before I can start making money off YouTube, and only twenty-five before it means I can move out of my mom's house. It's because of that small, somewhat meaningless success that I can handle going to a public school. Because if there are 140 people who would willingly look at me in private, then I can handle the 300 or so people in my grade who only think 'God, I want to run him over with my Honda Civic. That'll teach him not to loan me a mechanical pencil in math class.'"

Noah let the audience react to that final joke, flashing a large smile at the audience.

"Thank you, Cheryl's! You've been amazing! I'll be back whether you like it or not. If you do, look me up on YouTube, subscribe to my channel. If you don't, Noah Whitley is a pseudonym and I was never here. Good night!"

Noah did a quick little bow and put the microphone back in the mic stand. He chuckled to himself as he stepped off the stage and began to walk back to his seat. His throat was a little dry, and his legs were still a little jittery from standing on stage. It would be heavenly to sit down again.
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The Hills Have Eyes. Was that the one movie where Hannibal Barca got imprisoned and then helped the police catch a serial killer? Cereal killer though. That was the real punchline. At least Irene thought it was funnier than whatever Noah was blathering on about now. But still, maybe there was still a morsel of genius or wisdom somewhere in his monologue. She wasn't especially keen on sticking around now, she was for all intents and purposes ready to flip the proverbial bird and fly one over the cuckoo nest. But she couldn't just walk out the door, even though she was in all aspects legal through physical capable of doing so.

So instead she allowed her thoughts to critically dissect her friend-turned-nuisance's methodologies.

One: Wait, so did Pina die or something? Damn, it was about time.

Two: Irene thought this one was kinda true. Hey, if people talked enough she tended to laugh at some point, so it was valid right? But wait, what was with the random ass pause? Was he trying to be funny or something?

Three: No dang it, Pina was still alive. But in a dumpster now. Where she belonged. Oh man, was she starting to be overly harsh? Perhaps, but wasn't the only acceptable policy brinkmanship? The Cold War had proved that well enough. Maybe. But maybe Irene had to sympathize with a fellow woman against her oppressor. Noah was the one hypothetically throwing Pina out of and into stuff, after all. Wait, wasn't Pina the one Irene hated, not the Noah behind the mask? Sheesh, where did the metaphor even begin?

When Noah Whitley left the stage and proclaimed he was never even there Irene Djezari followed suit. Boom. Like she'd never even entered the building, she was gone. Except for the empty basket with her oversize tip still hidden underneath, that still stayed. And her wallet, she also left that one behind sitting rather conspicuously on the bar counter. Besides all that though it was like Irene had never stepped foot in the Cheryl's establishment, not since last weekend at any rate.

-----

She had her phone out on the way home, walking in the balmy air of a desert at twilight. At first she'd been typing up a storm Noah's way, but as she struggled to find the proper words to rant incoherently with she was distracted by the sudden inkling to figure out what Mad Max really was. Was it really the apocalyptic work that might or might not have been by Tolstoy that she was imagining? The answer was almost definitely no, but she could at least entertain the thought. She shoved the notepad app draft for her angrily worded letter aside, to join many other forgotten drafts like her half-completed screenplay. 'It's like Toradora, but the angry chick is even angrier!'

((Irene Djezari continued in Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses))
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Noah managed to get back to his seat at the bar. Irene was no longer around, something Noah found slightly disappointing. Not terribly, but slightly. Part of him hoped to get a critique following the show. There were parts he wasn't sure worked as well as others, particularly the rules part. Someone like Irene could at least let him know if the audience was laughing because it was funny or because they were trying to be polite.

On the other hand, Noah figured Irene was probably being polite by skipping out. Considering she tried throwing shade at him earlier, even before he performed, Noah was sure she had some bitter things to say, especially since he brought Pina into the routine. Such was the nature of their relationship. Still, Noah felt Irene was entitled to her opinion, and if she didn't want to share it with him, he didn't have to force it out of her.

"Ah, she left my skins alone. Score."

Noah picked up a potato skin and began to chew. Another performer was getting onto the stage. Noah decided to turn and watch. He had nothing better to do tonight, so why not watch a few more comedians? He relaxed in his seat as the next comedian began with a monologue about how getting his kids ready for school was just like being in the military. Noah knew he had to see where this one went.

((Noah Whitley continued in Prize Fighter))
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