I have finally completed the last page of my first novel. I know novels are supposed to have a bunch of words, so I added as many as I could. If this is well received, I may go ahead and write the rest of the pages.
Dick Moby
“Call me a cab.”
Bobby Ahab sweated into the mic. “I’m going to go find a real audience.” His joking but not really joking was amplified to anyone who was still listening. The Comedy Cruise’s headlining comic had been beating a dead horse for the last forty five minutes, and boy were his arms tired.
Across the tranquil horizon of blue haired heads, there had not been a laugh in sight, only a stagnant body of watchers becalmed with booze and the lateness of the hour. Standing on the prow of the stage in the great stillness of his set, the weary comic imagined himself a castaway on a desert island of disinterest. Alone, except for the single cackle of a distant bartender.
But this was merely the calm before the storm. Perhaps, one last trick by the cruel Gods of comedy to throw the comic off his guard, because suddenly, from deep within the sea of sullen slumbersome showgoers, a voice Ahab knew only too well breached the silence. A voice that had sunk so many sets, a voice from hell’s heart itself, stabbed back without missing a beat.
“Okay, you’re a cab.”
With a sudden swell, the audience came back to life, churning, tossing and frothing with waves of unforgiving laughter. From the unfathomable depths of depravity rose the voice of that obscene obtuse obtruder who had tormented Bobby for years. The bloated white haired interrupter, Dick Moby, was back.
From that time Ahab lost his leg after he chased Dick out of the Comedy Store, into the oncoming traffic of Sunset Boulevard, to the time Dick’s fake laughs ruined the comic’s Late Show audition, to the time the beast got the whole audience at the Quint Cities Comedy Festival to chant, “you’re not funny”, Ahab had vowed again and again that he would track down his hecklesome headache and get his revenge. On this night of all nights, Ahab finally had the badgering bellicose behemoth in his sights and tonight, he would get the last word, or choke trying.
Quickly Ahab went to work. “Hey buddy, I don’t come to your job and slap the cock out of your mouth.” Bobby’s well placed zinger sank deep into Moby but the porcine protuberance was ready for the comic and shrugged off his insult, twisting and tangling Bobby in his own cheap shot. “Oh is this your job?” “Where can I get a job not being funny?” Once again, the abruptly agitated assemblage boiled and bubbled with snorts and chortles. In the swirling mire, Bobby struggled to keep his act from capsizing.
The headliner took a deep breath and steadied himself for the next round. “It’s funny, when I was fucking your mom before the show, she didn’t mention that you were here,” he desperately dissed his taunting Titan. Ahab’s slam was met with silence. Had he finally struck a death blow? Was victory in his sights? After an eternity of anticipation, the lascivious leviathan grappled back. “My mother died of cancer yesterday.”
For a moment, all sound emptied from the room, then, the vacuum filled with a sustained sympathetic “awwwww.” It was the sickly sound of the wind being taken out of Ahab’s sails. Seizing the moment, Dick twisted his comeback further into the comedian’s act. “Mother loved comedy.” “I came to the show tonight to try to cheer myself up.” With that, Ahab was caught in a hail of “Get off the stage,” “You’re not funny” and “You suck.” Each pelting putdown stinging more than the last.
Dick set the hook: “Your mother, on the other hand, was still alive when I was fucking her before the show.” The audience erupted in a geyser of guffaws. The blood drained from Ahab’s face. The crowd sensed death as they perched in their chairs like vultures waiting for a last gasp. Ahab was finished. Exercising futility, he feebly whipped the microphone towards Moby, it’s cord looped around the heckler’s never ending waist. As Bobby watched the jeering jerkoff stand up and walk towards the exit, he failed to notice that the other end of the cord was wrapped around his own neck. Dick lurched through the cheering patrons and pulled Ahab into a maelstrom of four tops. The last I saw of that accursed comic, he was spitting out his last breaths while being dragged across a Sargasso Sea of tacky cruise ship carpeting.
No one ever heard from Ahab again. There was a rumor that he was doing the retirement complex circuit in Florida, and another rumor that he was teaching comedy at the Learning Annex. Dick Moby, on the other hand, started up his own comedy website where he made millions stealing jokes other comics had posted on social media.
Dick Moby
“Call me a cab.”
Bobby Ahab sweated into the mic. “I’m going to go find a real audience.” His joking but not really joking was amplified to anyone who was still listening. The Comedy Cruise’s headlining comic had been beating a dead horse for the last forty five minutes, and boy were his arms tired.
Across the tranquil horizon of blue haired heads, there had not been a laugh in sight, only a stagnant body of watchers becalmed with booze and the lateness of the hour. Standing on the prow of the stage in the great stillness of his set, the weary comic imagined himself a castaway on a desert island of disinterest. Alone, except for the single cackle of a distant bartender.
But this was merely the calm before the storm. Perhaps, one last trick by the cruel Gods of comedy to throw the comic off his guard, because suddenly, from deep within the sea of sullen slumbersome showgoers, a voice Ahab knew only too well breached the silence. A voice that had sunk so many sets, a voice from hell’s heart itself, stabbed back without missing a beat.
“Okay, you’re a cab.”
With a sudden swell, the audience came back to life, churning, tossing and frothing with waves of unforgiving laughter. From the unfathomable depths of depravity rose the voice of that obscene obtuse obtruder who had tormented Bobby for years. The bloated white haired interrupter, Dick Moby, was back.
From that time Ahab lost his leg after he chased Dick out of the Comedy Store, into the oncoming traffic of Sunset Boulevard, to the time Dick’s fake laughs ruined the comic’s Late Show audition, to the time the beast got the whole audience at the Quint Cities Comedy Festival to chant, “you’re not funny”, Ahab had vowed again and again that he would track down his hecklesome headache and get his revenge. On this night of all nights, Ahab finally had the badgering bellicose behemoth in his sights and tonight, he would get the last word, or choke trying.
Quickly Ahab went to work. “Hey buddy, I don’t come to your job and slap the cock out of your mouth.” Bobby’s well placed zinger sank deep into Moby but the porcine protuberance was ready for the comic and shrugged off his insult, twisting and tangling Bobby in his own cheap shot. “Oh is this your job?” “Where can I get a job not being funny?” Once again, the abruptly agitated assemblage boiled and bubbled with snorts and chortles. In the swirling mire, Bobby struggled to keep his act from capsizing.
The headliner took a deep breath and steadied himself for the next round. “It’s funny, when I was fucking your mom before the show, she didn’t mention that you were here,” he desperately dissed his taunting Titan. Ahab’s slam was met with silence. Had he finally struck a death blow? Was victory in his sights? After an eternity of anticipation, the lascivious leviathan grappled back. “My mother died of cancer yesterday.”
For a moment, all sound emptied from the room, then, the vacuum filled with a sustained sympathetic “awwwww.” It was the sickly sound of the wind being taken out of Ahab’s sails. Seizing the moment, Dick twisted his comeback further into the comedian’s act. “Mother loved comedy.” “I came to the show tonight to try to cheer myself up.” With that, Ahab was caught in a hail of “Get off the stage,” “You’re not funny” and “You suck.” Each pelting putdown stinging more than the last.
Dick set the hook: “Your mother, on the other hand, was still alive when I was fucking her before the show.” The audience erupted in a geyser of guffaws. The blood drained from Ahab’s face. The crowd sensed death as they perched in their chairs like vultures waiting for a last gasp. Ahab was finished. Exercising futility, he feebly whipped the microphone towards Moby, it’s cord looped around the heckler’s never ending waist. As Bobby watched the jeering jerkoff stand up and walk towards the exit, he failed to notice that the other end of the cord was wrapped around his own neck. Dick lurched through the cheering patrons and pulled Ahab into a maelstrom of four tops. The last I saw of that accursed comic, he was spitting out his last breaths while being dragged across a Sargasso Sea of tacky cruise ship carpeting.
No one ever heard from Ahab again. There was a rumor that he was doing the retirement complex circuit in Florida, and another rumor that he was teaching comedy at the Learning Annex. Dick Moby, on the other hand, started up his own comedy website where he made millions stealing jokes other comics had posted on social media.
