“What do you call a Geordie superhero?”
Silence and anticipation loomed, the reveal taking as much time as it needed to unveil itself.
BAM! Laughter, raucous, life affirming delicious, nutritious vitamin filled laughter flooded the auditorium. Two thousand voices joined together in a delightful harmony that’d make even the Bee-gees think about packing it in.
Wade Whitman was a comedian; he’d been one of the greatest comedians in the world for the past decade, just behind George Bush and tonight demonstrated why. His dry British wit, insightful musings and ability to make people chuckle to no end was something he’d most been proud of in life and it created one hullaballoo of a show and the atmosphere was electric; no seriously, literally electric, there were a lot of faulty wiring problems...quite dangerous actually.
BAM ANOTHER JOKE!
BAM! BAM BAM! He didn’t relent with the torrent of humour.
“Doves mate for life....must take a while”
LAUGHTER! BAM! WHAM! ZAMBOOZLE! This was one hell of a show and numerous subjects were touched upon, as Wade bobbed and weaved into various areas.
“I think the only chances of me getting married are if I have my wife shipped from overseas, and learn English from a crude cassette tape. No seriously folks, I’ve been single for so long even my right hand’s stopped talking to me”
Self deprecation always seemed to hit home, and Wade absolutely nailed it, like a lovable tramp musing on his failures in life.
Wade was about to go onto his routine about obesity, something that’d been hugely successful the previous shows this tour before suddenly becoming deadly silent. He could sense something wasn’t right, and it was unrelated to the itch at the top of his thighs, that was just generally awkward.
The floor began to shake aggressively, lights spasm-d on and off and the very floor itself began to crack and strain and towards the middle of the auditorium the floor rose between the aisles, it pushed upwards like that chestburster scene off Alien, except with concrete and carpet replacing skin and Sigourney Weaver. A hand punched through the floor and dragged part of it down as it pulled up the body attached to it, this most certainly wasn’t part of the show, but Wade knew what was coming, he had suspected as much this would happen.
The figure that had rudely interrupted Wade’s show pulled itself from the crater that now lay in the auditorium; he was a tall lanky figure wearing what only could be described as brightly coloured red rags and blue, like a rainbow crossed with a homeless person. He had a beard clung to his face with all the strength and determination of a midget at a urinal whilst he had eyes that were gateway to sheer unbridled hatred and evil, like a window at the Rooney household.
He rose fully, broadened his shoulders and pointed at Wade.
“Well Sarcasm-man, sorry to DROP IN!” He hissed with a generic ‘prickish’ voice.
Wade hesitated for a few seconds, a flurry of expressions running across his face, anger, frustration, puzzlement, deep thought, basically everything but arousal really. He then rose the microphone to his mouth and grinned.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, my arch nemesis...the comedic Terrorist.”
Silence as members of the audience began to wonder if this was part of the act, Wade began to talk, as if delivering a comedic monologue.
“Yes, It is correct, I AM the superhero known as sarcasm man, for all 6 of you in the audience who still don’t know this. The comedic-head terrorist over here is my arch nemesis, also kudos for messing up the intro pun there fella, his powers involve being a general unfunny prick who can do supervillain-esque stuff. Also as demonstrated when he entered, he isn’t funny, at all... In the slightest.”
The comedic terrorist advanced forward and raised his fist.
“After constantly being foiled by you Sarcasm man, I have finally resolved to my most cunning plan yet. To humiliate you...in front of a paying audience!” His laugh roared, full of malice and hate.
Wade raised an eyebrow.
“How...do you plan on doing this?”
“By having a JOKE OFF of course!”
Wade fell to his knees and imitated shooting himself, he banged the microphone against his head and muttered to himself.
“Oh sweet holy hell.....really? REALLY?! I mean seriously? This isn’t an 8 mile rap battle; I will actually physically decimate you. You’re the Nazis and I’m the Russians here pal. I’ve got more lines than Pete Doherty’s coffee table”
The comedic terrorist launched himself into the air and levitated above the terrified, yet oddly intrigued audience members.
“You’re scared. You know I’ll win SarGAYsm man. You suck at most things, you fail at comedy and women hate you!”
Wade leapt to his feet, visibly agitated.
“HEY! Like Me in relation to those women, that was not called for. Fine...go nuts, whatever”
The Comedic Terrorist descended to the ground and leapt onto the stage opposite Wade, he spread his feet and thrust his finger at Wade.
“Your mother...is so fat, that it’s a serious health risk to her!”
Quiet silence, no response, even tumbleweeds would feel ashamed to drift aimlessly in this awkward silence.
Wade rolled his eyes.
“Your mother is so fat, she fell down the stairs and I thought Eastenders had finished”
The crowd roared hard. Even the fear of a subpar super villain holding them hostage was overwhelmed by that zinger.
This back and forth continued relentlessly for a good...oh 15 minutes, Wade getting the upper hand over every single joke Comedic Terrorist could muster up.
“You suck so hard, that things stick to you easily” The Comedic Terrorist spat out, still revelling in the applause he imagined in his head.
“Just give up seriously, you’ll never be half the man your mother is” Wade sighed.
The crowd hollered and hooted and all manner of verbs Dr Seuss probably used, the comedic terrorist looked around exasperated, he realised he could never win this and did the only thing he could logically think of, burn the crap out of things.
He raised his arms and screamed, shards of flame sprang out of his finger tips and sped towards Wade. Would he be able to escape them in time?!?!....
....Yes, obviously....he’s a superhero.
Wade dashed out of the way and the flames simply hit an usher, no problem there. Not the artist called Usher...although he had a song called burn, so that’d be kind of ironic wouldn’t it?
ANYWAY, Wade was now in Sarcasm-man mode and strode towards the comedic terrorist and pulled his arm back.
“Here’s the punchline”
His hand connected with the comedic terrorists jaw with the sort of strength and violence only reserved for ex wives of OJ Simpson, resulting in him speeding upwards and crashing through the roof, until he resembled a small blip in the sky.
Wade sighed and silence ensued for a few seconds before he grinned and turned to the audience, he raised the microphone.
“Well, I’ve had some heckles in my time...”