Go with the Flow

Dale McLoud, age nineteen, employed part-time at Dollar General and still living at home, was in his lair in the basement running some jokes by his friends Lena and Robbie. In two days he’d be onstage for his very first time at the monthly comedy open mic. After a few lines about being a stand-up virgin, he had a short string of observations about his mother’s habit of leaving piles of folded laundry around the house. It was funny enough, since he presented it as a way for his father to locate her, but Lena felt it should lead to something bigger and better. “Well, sometimes she asks me why I wash my own underpants,” Dale said. “As if she really misses the opportunity to wash them herself.”

“Why DO you wash them yourself?” Robbie asked.

“Because, YOU KNOW,” Dale said.

“Are you saying you somehow stain your underwear?” Lena asked, giggling. “That’s gross.”

“It’s semen, not shit, Lena,” Dale said, pretending to be offended.

“That’s even more gross,” said Lena. “THIS could be your big joke. I mean, we’ve been to these open mics, and you’ve heard all the guys talk about their masturbation habits. Go with the flow!” She let out a hoot at her own pun-like phrase.

“Most of us use a special towel, Dale,” Robbie said. “But of course, that has to be washed, too, or just thrown out. Your mother could be asking you where all her towels have gone.”

“That’s just sad, Robbie,” said Lena. It’s gotta be more stupid.”

“Well, the first time I jerked off, I accidentally got it in my face.” Dale was not embarrassed. He seemed pleased to recall that long-ago incident.

“That’s it,” Lena said. “That’s funny. Go with that, somehow.” They all laughed. They hadn’t said it, but they felt like professional comedy writers, working on Dale’s five-minute act. This was more fun than the routine itself would probably be.

“I wonder if it’s too much about the living-at-home thing,” Robbie said. “Not everyone can relate to that, and it makes you look like a loser.”

“Comedians ARE losers,” Dale said. “People DO relate to losers, because everyone’s afraid they ARE one.”

“Whether they're a REAL loser or not, if the person onstage takes that position, then the audience can feel better about themselves,” Lena said. She was on a roll tonight. But then, unbidden, the thought came to her that she, a woman NOT living at home, couldn’t relate AT ALL to having solo sex in her underpants and hiding it from her mother. That was a guy thing, and a very YOUNG guy thing.

“We need to think about who the audience might be, though,” she said. “There’s such a thing as TOO stupid.”

“I doubt that,” Robbie said, and he and Dale began to discuss ways to include Dale’s spectacular amateur masturbation mistake in his amateur routine.

“See you at the show,” Lena said, grabbing her purse and gulping down the remainder of the one can of hard lemonade she allowed herself on week nights. “Got work tomorrow. You’ll be great, Dale!”

— Macoff