OK, before we get to my one-off o’ week let me do my rant o’ the week: <rant> Excuse ME, Girl-I-used-to-know but what in the holy hell makes you think I would want to be “friends” with you? You are obviously deluded and have lost your damn mind if you think I don’t remember EXACTLY how you used to treat me. Do you not remember how I was the ONLY person you didn’t invite to your parties? Do you not remember that of the 300+ people we had in band that I was the ONLY one, THE ONLY ONE THAT YOU DIDN’T INVITE TO YOUR BIRTHDAY AND HALLOWEEN PARTIES? I remember you passing out invites in front of me. You did that shit on purpose. Well guess what, bitch, I remember so you can take your “Friend Request” and suck it. I hated you then. I hate you now. Jesus Christ, you have GOT to be kidding me with this shit…
OH, oh, and, AND, speaking of Jesus, and before I let this go, you are one of those who treat people like shit and then turn around and call themselves “Christian.” I tell you what; you know what Jesus would do? Invite everyone. In fact, I’m pretty sure he did. I am almost positive that Jesus didn’t leave anyone off of the guest list. </rant>
Now, where was I? Oh yes, comedy, specifically stand-up comedy. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. If I am channel surfing and I run across a stand-up show, I’m stopping. Even if I have seen it a dozen times and know all of the jokes, if it made me laugh the first time, it’ll do it again and I’m watching it.
I have wildly varied tastes in stand-up. I will watch this, except for this hillbilly ass-hat. (God, I hate him. He’s the opposite of funny. Git THIS done, motherfucker.) I love Eddie Izzard. (I got to see him in Philly. Well worth the money.) I even watched some of The Last Comic Standing the other day, which, uhm, yeah, not funny. I think I got A chuckle in an hour.
I watch Rooftop Comedy “That Sucks” every time it is on and I will search for stand-up on hulu.com. I have every cable station known to man and if it is stand-up I will stop and watch at least a little. I can be having a shitty day and it becomes magnitudes better if I happen across a favorite comic.
Now, I as much as I like stand-up I hate when I can see the joke coming, which I can do on most old-school “set up, punch-line, bum dum dum.” (See ass-hat above. Oh my god, man, you’re not funny. You’re teabagger stoopid. And I’m pretty sure your fan base is 99.99999% teabaggers, and not the funny porn kind.) Unless you’re really old-school like Phyllis Diller, Redd Foxx, and so on. Then you are funny because you originated some shit and I bow down to you.
What really, really makes me lose my shit is story-based comedy. If it sounds like a story and not a bum-dum-dum joke, I’m all over that. (Probably because my Dad can tell stories like no one else. I remember laughing so hard that I would get the hiccups and even though I’d heard his stories a thousand times I couldn’t wait to have guests over for dinner so that I could get him to tell the stories again.)
OK, so, back in November when I was down in the Keys, it was about noon, and I was doing all my prep work for my tiny little Thanksgiving dinner, and I turned on some stuff I had recorded earlier when I happened across LogoTV and found this: One Night Stand-Up, specifically episode 4, wherein I met my new boyfriend, Ali Mafi. 
I cannot tell you how many times I watched this guy’s routine. I had to have rewound it 25-30 times and it never stopped being funny. I wish I could find a video clip of his story about his family going to the airport but I can’t so keep an eye out, or search your cable, or something because he’s hysterical.
Anyway, Ali Mafi, aka Ali Fame Mafi, should actually have an Ali Mafi-a because I would so line up to be in that family. I’d be the consigliere. I’d be Michael to his Godfather. Fuck it, I’d even be Fredo. (Poor Fredo.) I don’t know how to explain him. He’s this good-looking young man with an evil little glint in his eyes that looks like he would cut a bitch if you dared to heckle. He’s lightning quick, man. I couldn’t see where his airport story was headed, and if he made the story up, he sells it like it were true. You know what I mean? He’s laughing along with the story, not because if he didn’t laugh you wouldn’t know that stuff was supposed to be funny, but because it sounds like a story your best friend would tell when he knows that it is hysterical and you know it will be hysterical and he’s just trying to maintain and get to the end where you can both lose it together. (Simultaneous giggle-gasm. Oh, always the best.)
And lose it, I did. I blew my champagne out of my nose. (What!? It was Thanksgiving. Everyone starts drinking early. And it was the Keys. Oh, fuck off.) And I got the hiccups, which is the highest compliment I can give. And, not only does Ali tell great stories, but his closing routine made me and the Dude stand up and cheer. It’s about how he is the “epitome of the American dream,” and if you watch him and you don’t believe him and agree, then Hillbilly Ass-hat probably has room for one more at his show.
I’ll tell you this, Mr. Mafi, when I am finally able to catch you in person, which I hope will be very soon, the drinks are on me. I owe you that. Thanks for, well, for you.