Use the new button on the left side of the page to follow us on Twitter.  Its like having a vending machine full of your uncle’s jokes!

Last month, some friends and I headed late one evening down a long, seemingly empty street in Chicago’s old meat-packing district.  We drove down a line of what looked like old, abandoned warehouses until we came to the correct address.  We parked and looked around at not much of anything.  We were there for El Circo Cheapo, a monthly amateur circus and vaudeville show that routinely sells out a month or more in advance to those lucky enough to be in the know.  And this night we were among them.  We ascended a staircase with a handful of others and gave our names at another, wholly non-descript door upstairs before entering the theater, if theater is defined very loosely.  We were in a large room with cement walls.  A tight-rope was stretched from one corner to another.  From the ceiling a large rope was hung.  It was like stepping into a void or black hole and finding two unexpected objects seemingly placed there at random.  After everyone was seated, the ringmaster and emcee, Chicago-comic Cameron Esposito came out to warm the crowd up and introduce the first act.  From that moment onward a breath of life swept into the room and the wonderful action did not relent as we went from tight-rope walking to acrobatics, from magic to Chaplin-esque clowning to women on flying trapezes, all the while interspersed with Ms. Esposito’s witty dialogue and commentary.  She has a rascally but loveable presence, like if Wile E. Coyote had a night of ghostly visitations like Ebenezer Scrooge and emerged the next morning with the same penchant for mischief but a bigger smile.  If you haven’t been to El Circo Cheapo, look them up now.  It is among the most rewarding (and cheapest) nights you can have in this great city. 

This past week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Cameron Esposito about her tenure at El Circo Cheapo as well as her time as an improve comic in Boston and, now, as a stand-up here in Chicago.  She is currently prepping for an hour-long show, “Side-Mullet Nation”, in this year’s Just For Laughs festival (June 15^th, 8:30pm, Playground Theater).  It was a pleasure to have gotten some of her time amidst such a busy schedule.  In it she mentions how the circus artists are bleeding gracefully during their contortions; it is a good description of her brand of comedy. 

LBS:  Your first comedy cd, “Grab Them Aghast” (available on iTunes), was released a little over a year ago; do you currently have plans for a follow-up?  Also, is something tangible like that something that you still take a lot of pride in or something you have left behind you?  I can recall, as a writer, getting my first big publication and being fairly startled by how little something like that, something that all aspiring writers are after, ended up affecting me; how quickly it gave way to all the rest of day-to-day life.

CE:  Oh for sure.  The goal of that album was to have something tangible to put in people’s hands as they left a show and to throw some jokes at ears that weren’t at a live show.  And it’s done that.  But man,I didn’t think about how static a tangible product would remain… comics change from show to show, week to week, etc… and how unusual my slow, descriptive style might seem on tape.  That album’s gonna be a collector’s item in like five years, I’m sure of it.

LBS:  Seeing you on stage as ringmaster and emcee of El Circo Cheapo, I was very struck by the rapport you have with your audience.  It was the first time I really questioned whether or not Kermit the Frog is was the world’s best host.  Whether you were talking about successfully urinating through leggings or just teeing up the next act, people seemed to love you.  What are the main differences between your persona on-stage and your persona in what we call real life?

CE:  Well, thank you, first off.  I’m actually a pretty shy person, and a true introvert.  I love people and I want to chat and chat until I really don’t want to chat anymore and then I want to go home and research special effects nonsense on the internet or talk to myself in the shower.  The stage is so intimate for me.  It’s like one giant bedroom and we’re all in it.  Except that my parents come to shows sometimes, so maybe I’ll get back to work on that analogy.

LBS:  Outside of comedy, what are your favorite artistic forms as a spectator?  Or are there others that you yourself like to try your hands at? 

CE:  ACTION MOVIES!  Oh they are just such a pure art:  the drama, the athleticism, the explosions, the hot ladies… what’s not to love?  I’m just a sucker for hyperbole and overwrought tension.  And on a completely different note, I’m pretty into dance.  Cuz I can’t do that at all.  My bod is expressive, but it loves to just stand on its legs.  Watching someone really move, watching the circus gals really move for that matter, it’s a moment of insight into what a body can actually do if it isn’t just used as a joking slinging vessel.

LBS:  Do you still get lost in each El Circo Cheapo act even after seeing it over and over?  I can recall walking into that big, impersonal loft in the middle of nowhere and thinking it felt so empty and sparse and… normal.  It seemed impossible to me that the magic of people’s personal, oddball talents could fill that entire space and hypnotize a crowd but they absolutely did; it became another world entirely.  It’s such a hidden gem, a bit like the magic theater in Hesse’s “Steppenwolf.”

 CE:  There are some performers that I’m floored by every time.  Especially since they have let me try some of the circus equipment, and I want to state above all else: those performers are in pain.  It hurts.  They are probably bleeding, gracefully. 

LBS:  Do you think the hypnotic effect of the arts on the spectator mentioned above applies as well to the performer?  In my own attempts at standup, that was always the one part that was missing for me, I never have been able to become lost or caught up in my own performance on stage.  Do you ever feel like performing is an ecstatic act that you gain just as much from as the audience?

CE:  Oh heavens yes.  When it feels like that, like you are channeling things you have written beforehand but also responding to the room, the mood, the people in it, well that’s what it is all for.  For that feeling of speaking on behalf of the group and being lost in time.  Don’t tell any surly, drunken male comics I told you that.

LBS:  You run an all-female comedy class here in Chicago called Feminine Comique: what about this course do you think specifically lends itself to the feminine sense of humor and perspective? 

CE:  So I guess this brings us back to surly, drunken male comics.  Those dudes are my peers and my friends; I feel totally comfortable in the standup scene.  But I do think it is harder for women to begin a career in standup.  I think ladies spend less time watching standup, and see fewer successful female comics, so there isn’t as clear a starting point or goal for gals.  Blah.  What I mean is: the class isn’t about a feminine sense of humor, it’s about building ladies up so that they trust their own voice and everything that voice has to say about periods.

LBS:  Well put.  I think that these days, since the Bush administration maybe, comedy has made a heavy swing back toward the comedy of politics and away from the comedy of, say, pure joke-crafting.  Do you think that comedy is an important catalyst for social change or do you think that people should (as the aliens advised Woody Allen in “Stardust Memories”) just “tell funnier jokes?”  For instance, I like subversive comedy at times, but one could argue that the mere popularity of a show like “Will & Grace” did more for the acceptance of gays and lesbians than any so-called shocking jokes could ever accomplish.  Or that Louis Armstrong did more for African American social equality than Malcolm X.

CE:  Yes, the old sneaking of the agenda in through the back door vs. getting all Lewis Black on the people.  Both have a place.  The overt politics of the Daily Show, the culturally critical but subtle hilarity of French & Saunders (and if you don’t know French & Saunders, stop reading and acquaint yourself).  My comedy is purposefully subtle, but I also dig watching someone like local Chicago comic Drew Michael try and defend an overtly subversive position to the end.  Then again, I’m an asymmetrically haired lesbian circus ringmaster: my entire existence is subversive.

LBS:  Having come up in improv in Boston and then moved to stand-up here in Chicago, do you find yourself approaching comedy more as a writer or as a performer?  Do you wrestle with the wording of jokes like Jacob wrestling with God, come up with them on-the-spot on-stage or is your process somewhere in between?

CE:  Wording comes last for me.  First, I’ll pull my bike over and send myself a text message about some joke nugget I thought up while riding.  Next, try and remember what I meant when I sent that message.  Then, work it out on stage at an open mic.  Tweak the wording over the course of a few sets.  Done!

LBS:  What shows and projects do you have coming up that we should be especially looking out for?  How are you upcoming shows and projects advancing you as a comedic artist and where are you ultimately hoping to go in the comedy world?

CE:  I’m doing an hour long spot at this summer’s TBS Just for Laughs Festival in Chicago.  (SIDE MULLET NATION, Playground Theater, June 15, 830 PM)  I’m hoping to get a run of that show at a small theater in Chicago, sell that out like mad, get some sweet reviews, take it on the road, and end up at the White House in 2012.  Like just in the cabinet or something; I’m not reaching to be President or anything.  Yet.

LBS:  As a self-proclaimed “purveyor of fine jokes,” what advice would you have for we here at LBS who run something more akin to a comedy consignment shop (or to any other coming-up comedian for that matter) in terms of turning this thing of personal inspiration into anything approximating a livelihood?  And is there a joke of yours that is so old and worn out that you would like to hand it over to us for a few dollars of gas money?

CE:  Just do the work.  Remember, late at night, when you find yourself stricken with a bout of Restless Legs Syndrome and can’t watch Cabaret any more times that week for devil may care inspiration, that if you are putting your time into writing and telling jokes, there’s nothing more you can do.  And for gods’ (plural gods) sake: go to bed.

LBS:  Well thanks a thousand for your time.  We will have to chat again next year.  Here’s hoping the chairs in the Oval Office are more comfortable.

For more information on Cameron Esposito, check out her website at: www.cameronesposito.com

For more information on El Circo Cheapo, check out their website at: www.elcircocheapo.com

The world is rejoicing today as Gen. Ratko Mladic, former Serbian military commander, was arrested for crimes against humanity.  Unfortunately, the rest of the Serbian population is still at large.

Dick Cheney was quoted recently as saying that he “worships” rising GOP star Paul Ryan.  Ryan responded that the praise was bittersweet: sweet because a compliment is always welcome to his ears; bitter because Cheney’s worshipping him indicates that he is, indeed, the second coming of our dark lord Satan, as his grade school teachers and classmates had always suspected.

Residents in Santa Monica, CA, are set to vote on a measure soon that would ban any male circumcision before the age of 18.  The legislation is seen as discriminatory and unfair by populations (such as Jews) whose religions mandate the procedure on newborns.  The measure has shocking popularity, however, among yeast infection aficionados and women who want an excuse to not give head.

Top members of the Japanese government are concerned by findings that indicate radiation levels in octopus have spiked dramatically in the wake of recent nuclear reactor leaks.  Japanese women are also concerned by this development, since these octopus will eventually be shoved up their vaginas. 

A CNN reporter today posed the question “are sexy dolls ok for little kids?”  Little kids and their parents have responded by voicing concern that the reporter finds dolls so incredibly sexy.

2011 – Lowbrowsophisticate writer Daniel Monroe continues to insist he is a scientist, despite his only “experiment” being how much one man can snack in an evening.

1992 – “Smells Like Nirvana” by “Weird” Al Yankovic hits #35 on the Billboard charts, ensuring Kurt Cobain’s death by suicide two years later.

1990 – Jim Henson passes away, ending his tyrannical fisting-reign over the Kermit the Frog and the rest of the Muppet-people.

1980 – Brian May of the rock group Queen collapses on stage from Hepatitis, forcing the band to cancel multiple tour dates.  Fans were forgiving of the inconvenience, but their patience wore thin the following year when he collapsed again from Chlamydia.

1975 – Junko Tabei becomes the first woman to reach the summit of Mount Everest.  Also, scientists discover the freezing temperature of vagina.

1960 – Theodore Maiman operates the first laser in a California laboratory: 34 wounded, 17 dead.

1931 – Amelia Earheart eschews her daily studies of aviation and navigation yet again in lieu of taking a scenic walk and flirting with boys.

1874 – A flood on the Mill River in Massachusetts kills over 130 farmers and members of their families, but provides nutrient-rich silt to their farm lands in a wonderful example of irony.

Bin Laden (pictured above) in happier times after buying his puppy, Skittles.

Mere hours after his death, Osama’s body was given a proper burial at sea by the US government.  This action illustrated two things: that President Barrack Obama has grace even for his greatest enemies, and that he has suspiciously thorough, at-hand knowledge of Islamic burial customs.

Bin Laden’s religious ideology maintained that all civilians are fair targets, men, women and children alike.  The same attitude was regrettably applied in equal measure to his sexual ethos.

Bin Laden was known to vocally oppose music on religious grounds, but those who knew him best knew the real reason for his aversion: his jealousy of musicians because he himself had no rhythm. 

Bin Laden had a well-known penchant for recording long-winded videos that were seen as a means of communicating with his loose-knit confederation of followers.  Only Osama knew the real reason he these one-sided discussions with his camcorder: he was lonely. 

US intelligence had long believed that Osama had kidney failure, as he was often spotted travelling with a giant box that appeared to be a dialysis machine.  Upon examining his compound after his death, it was found to be the carrying case for his Real Doll.

Bin Laden’s strategy against his often larger foes like the US and USSR was to lure them into a war of attrition that would drain their finances and ultimately bankrupt them.  Ironically, this strategy would be turned on him by his shrewish fifth wife, Hazziz.

It is well-known what close friends Bin Laden was with charismatic Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein, a friendship that lasted till the latter’s death and was not even derailed by their earlier, torrid love-triangle with Princess Diana of England.

Osama was never as self-assured of his looks as he was of his intellect.  Numerous sources cite his belief as a young man that he had a “crater face.”  It was a belief that was not actually well-founded until May 2^nd, 2011.

The administration of zany US President George W. Bush offered a $25 million reward for the capture of Bin Laden in the wake of the September 11^th attacks.  It is seems remarkable that no one took up the offer, until one recalls the well-known fact that the US government has no money.

In 1998, a first Interpol warrant was issued for Bin Laden’s arrest.  The warrant cited his growing plans to target a Western nation with violence, and his repeated copying and resale of his VHS copy of Legally Blond II.

For years it had been thought that the exceptional length of Bin Laden’s beard was a mark of his seniority in the Islamic and jihadist culture.  However, upon shaving it to prepare for his burial, US special forces realized it was because his face was a three at best.

Bin Laden was given many nicknames and titles by his esteemed colleagues, including Prince and Father of Abdallah.  He was only known to have given himself one nickname, however: Usama Sheikh (or “Lion King”) after watching the beloved Disney classic one Saturday morning on Al Jazira.

As previously noted, Bin Laden was referred to as Abu Abdallah, or “Father of Abdallah,” a nickname garnered during one long and particularly lonesome stint in the mountains with Abdallah.

Bin Laden’s father died in 1967 in an airplane crash in Saudia Arabia and his eldest half-brother was killed in San Antonio in 1988 when he accidentally flew a plane into power lines; Osama was also to prove himself to be a clumsy aviator.

US Intelligence has described Bin Laden over the years as “tall” and “slender” with “olive skin” and with a “soft spoken and mild-mannered demeanor” making it rather unclear as to their exact motives for chasing him.

Irascible US president George W. Bush was a well-known nemesis to Bin Laden, who bested the president in almost every way except one…  sustaining a loving and nurturing marriage.

 Bin Laden tried his hand at marriage numerous times (reportedly around six) but was never able to sustain any of them beyond the sixth or seventh child, leading him to think he was a failure in love.

At King Abdulaziz University, a young Bin Laden was known for his interests in poetry, football, charitable work, and black stallions.  The black stallions, however, thought Bin Laden was a bit scrawny and unadventurous in bed.

 Bin Laden listed Shia Muslims as heretics (along with Jews, Christians, etc) due to their subversive belief that Mohammed parted his hair to the left.

2011 – Osama Bin Laden heads into day 6 of his dirty, eternal orgy with the 72 virgins; finds their youthfulness invigorating but their sexual prowess somewhat lacking / wishes he could replace them with whores.

2002 – Dutch politician Pim Fortuyn was assassinated outside a radio station by an animal rights activist who claimed he had seen Fortuyn beating a dog.  With Fortuyn’s last breath, he made his assassin realize the error of his ways, saying “my wife, you scoundrel!  That wasn’t a dog I was hitting, that was my wife!”

1998 – MLB pitcher Kerry Wood strikes out twenty batters in a game against the Houston Astros.  It was the greatest number of strike-outs in one evening since the last time Al Roker attended a speed dating session.

1996 – The body of William Colby, former CIA director, was found washed up on the shore of a Maryland riverbank eight days after he had mysteriously disappeared.  His family was relieved to have the closure since the body probably would not have been identified at all had the river waters not washed off his fake mustache and dark sunglasses.

1954 - Roger Bannister becomes the first man to run the mile in under four minutes.  His guilty conscious, however, kept pace.

1937 – The Hindenburg goes down attempting to dock, killing 36 people.  The tragedy would be mourned by nearly all, but lauded by Michael Stampton of Innesbrook, New Jersey, a blimp-detractor.

From time to time we’d like to share some of the more intersting search terms that people have used to end up on our site to give you a little flavor of what our fans are like.  Todays highlighted search term is:

Bow Wow Genital Warts

Jack Grabber stripped off the last of his western clothes, picked the crisp, light, white Middle Eastern robe off the bed and slid it over his body before putting on the traditional headdress.  He could smell the myrrh that scented the cloth.  He inhaled it deeply; a satisfying scent that reminded him of the very first Christmas.  He walked to his full length mirror to see the results – It was a mixed bag;  the outfit was authentic for sure, but his skin was obviously too fair; fortunately his light hair was covered by the “towel.”  The robe was too short for his 6’5 inch frame, the bottom resting just below his knees.  “I wonder if they sometimes wear these as capris,” he thought. “I bet they do.”  He took some of his homemade fake tan compound that he had derived from the skin cells of darker foes he had defeated, it also included mayonnaise, sandalwood and the faintest hint of feces (amongst other throw-ins) and smeared it thick across all exposed patches of his white skin, being cautious not to rub it in, just kind of layered it on like cake makeup.  Next, he grabbed some dark, black hair from the loose hair bag that he kept next to the sink and stuck it onto his face where it clung to the excess fake-tan compound -  An improvised beard. Overall it looked pretty goddamn convincing.  Everything was in order.  He walked back into the bed room and climbed onto the double bed; pulled the sheets up to his eyes.  Beneath the sheets, the smell of the myrrh reached his nose more easily and was strengthened by the accompanying scent of memories.  The feel of the robe was taut against his tummy; his funny, contrived beard itched him as he lay cheek against pillow. He wouldn’t hear the footsteps leading to the flat this particular evening as Samir Gadot (his best friend and ex-Iraqi Guardsman) had been away on vacation for just under two days, but dressing up like this comforted Grabber in the moments when missing him kept him awake.  Perhaps this night he could sleep.

With the door closed it was impossible to see a damn thing in the little holding cell.  The prisoner was completely deprived of any sensory experience but his own internal thoughts; his consciousness hovered there in the blackness.  And the blackness bled into his consciousness, altered it, made it think bad things.  In his training in Pakistan the prisoner had always been tough, always come through.  He had never thought for a moment that he could be made to give up his mission or comrades, even under the worst of pressure if taken captive.  But now he was captive and now he wasn’t so sure.  Partly it was just because it’s obviously more stressful when it’s not just in theory.  Partly because of who had caught him.  The guy was huge.  Maybe 6’5.  Definitely 250 lbs.  Certainly packin’.  He didn’t know the guy’s name of course.  He had asked during his transportation and immediately realized how out of place such little chit chat was when you’re being held on terrorism suspicion.  His captor had just laughed a little and said “well you can call me Grabbs…  or Grabby…  Grabby-Grabbs” then returned to his seemingly normal, cold silence.  That was just before he’d been put in this holding cell.  How many hours ago was it?  He had no way of knowing.  The room had been completely empty when he was pushed into it.  It was still almost empty but he was slowly but surely filling it up with his own shit.  He’d had to designate one corner as the restroom.  Four times and counting.  Shouldn’t have had that double-down, but the temptation had been too great.  They would almost certainly have to re-carpet.  Then he heard it.  Heavy, deliberate footsteps.  Only one man, which would have been a relief, but his footsteps rung out loud enough to have been a whole squad.  They set off alarms in his brain.  US news stories about waterboarding and genital electrocution and man-piles.  The kind of stuff you might choose to do on a Saturday night, but wouldn’t want to have done to you by a stranger in an opposing army.  But then Grabbs wasn’t in the army.  He had claimed to have dropped out “when the Geneva Cunt-vention was signed.”  Now they just used him in special cases.  Apparently he was a special case.  He cursed the Iraqi ex-guardsman who had turned him in as the last heavy footsteps came down outside the door.  He and the guardsman had been drinking together and were raising a little hell with the girls in the village.  Well, raising a LOT of a hell.  Just as they were finishing one girl, the Iraqi, Gadot, had pulled out and run away.  He’d been grabbed from behind that instant.  Grabbed…  by Grabbs…  Grabby-Grabb-Grabb-Grabberton.  Grabbed.  Now here he was.  Waiting in terror…  yes, he, in terror…  for what would be behind that door.  It opened.  Slowly.  The huge American stepped in.  The prisoner couldn’t believe it but all the American held was a yellow whiffle ball bat and a semi-large freezer bag.  He sighed out loud in relief.  He had been expecting electrodes, a torture rack or a judas seat.  Here it almost seemed like Grabby just wanted to play.  And in a sense he was right.  Grabber threw the baggy down on the table.   White powder spilled out everywhere.  A LOT of white powder.  Cocaine.  “Why…  do you have a wiffle ball bat and…  cocaine?” the prisoner nervously asked.  “Because I plan on doing a lot of batting,” said Grabber with a smile.  “Look,” said the prisoner “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”  Grabber took a long, long pause.  18 minutes.  Dramatic as hell.  “That’s the thing,” he said, “I don’t want any information from you.  I don’t give a F*CK.  At least not about your little schemes.  But what I am curious about is how long it’d take to beat a motherf*cker to death with a whiffle ball bat.  I’ve been wondering that since I was about nine.”  The last thing the terrorist heard was Grabber yell out that no “head shots” were allowed.  Then it was just the flurry of activity and pain raining all over his body.  At 30 minutes he was almost totally numb.  But a painful numb.  The bat made a funny plastic fwappy sound.  At an hour his clothes had caught fire and disintegrated.  At 3 hrs Grabber had hit a home run with one of his balls.  At 37 hours Grabber had his answer.  At 37.5 he had hit the showers and shared that answer with Gadot.  They had slapped a wet high five.  They were always on the same team.

Betty White’s family moved from Oak Park, Illinois to Los Angeles, California during the “Great Depression.” Unfortunately their depression was not alleviated by the move because Betty came with them.

Even before her most famous tv show, White referred to her breasts as the “golden girls” due to their thick, blonde hair.

White’s first marriage to an Army Pilot named Dick Barker ended in divorce when Barker called out “Janet” in the bedroom. White assumed he was having an affair, failing to remember that it was their agreed upon “safety word” for when her activities grew too rough.

During the span of her career, White has been a frequent visitor on game shows such as “To Tell the Truth”, “Password” and “I’ve Got a Secret” (the latter was also a game she played in real life, concealing her massive credit card debt from her husbands, family, and fans).

When World War II broke out, White was quick to join the American Women’s Voluntary Services.  When that group disbanded, White continued to provide hundreds of American soldiers on leave with her voluntary services, often servicing four or five a day.

It is often forgotten that White began her career as a model but the few who do remember are still puzzled.

On “Boston Legal” White played a calculating, blackmailing, gossip-monger, a role that she had played in private throughout most of the 1980′s.