Mr. Funny Man

Malcolm Bennett ran as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. Sweat dripped from his short, curly black hair down onto his round puffy face. His clothes as well, a pinstriped button-up green shirt and casual black slacks were drenched. Nearly running into a car that was patiently waiting at an intersection, he managed to leap over part of the hood and quickly took a left turn as the car honked noisily. Not exactly familiar with the town, he had no final destination that required the turn. It was a whimsical decision -- anything to throw off the angry mob behind him.

Malcolm was not exactly in the best shape. Having fled for but a half-mile so far, his legs were burning with the effort it took to move so rapidly after years of neglecting decent exercise. His feet ached from stiff black dress shoes, definitely a poor choice for runners everywhere, he thought. The beer gut he wore not so proudly was cramping on both sides and to top it off, he had been feeling winded about a quarter of a mile ago. His desparate eyes scanned the street for some save haven. Most of the stores around appeared to be closed.

His mind was, however, working in overdrive. Regardless of his situation, a furious mob in pursuit of a short fat funny guy on a warm summer evening, he was beginning to think of how to spin this scenario to his favor, at least in the future.

He would begin by walking on stage, a routine he's used to. Just grab the mic and begin talking. No problem. Hopefully the future audience would be more receptible than tonight's. He'd warm up to the audience, tell a few starter jokes, then deliver his main act.

"Now, I've told some bad jokes in my life, but let me tell you about the time I told the worst joke ever in my life. I ain't kidding here folks," he'd say. The audience will have calmed down by now and will listen intently, eyes focused on him.

"Well I was in this one town, I won't say the name. Pretty nice town. Friendly people for the most part. Well all that is except for my audience that night." Maybe solicit a few chuckles in. "So it has a pretty heavy minority population and I'll say it right now, gotta put in that disclaimer these days y'now, I ain't got no beef with anybody! Let's get that right out in the open! I gotta pretty good mix of an audience that one night, some white, some black, more than a few people from the middle east."

He would adjust his collar a bit, take a few deep breaths and a quick gulp of water.

"It was in the summer but I'll tell you it was a pretty cool night that night because the audience was frigid! Couldn't get one soul there to laugh. Not a single one, uh-uh! So I think to myself, it's time to do some improv, maybe that'll work y'know? So I come up with something and here's what went happened. 'I used to be a flight instructor, teach people how to fly. Pretty great job because I love flying. And I taught all sorts, you just name it.' No problem, right?"

He'd take another drink and let the picture settle into everyone's mind.

"I go on, then 'Well if there's anything I've noticed while doing that is that certain types of people have some odd habits while flying. You've got white guys like me who're all nervous and checking their instruments like ten times a minute. Then there's the black guys I taught who just kind of chill out and enjoy the whole flying experience and then I have to remind them that we're almost out of fuel and gotta land. Then there's the Arab guys I've talked who're really calm, cool and collected, y'know, until all of a sudden it's OH SHIT LOOKING FOR THAT BUILDING -- KABLOOOIE!'

"Well I can tell you all right now that didn't go over too well with the middle eastern folks there and I literally got my fat ass ran out of town."

Yeah, it'll be a real riot.