Recap The Big Deuce Comedy Open Mic

The Comedy Club On State's inaugural Big Deuce Comedy Open Mic hadn't even welcomed its first stand-up act on Wednesday night when the rape jokes started flying. The evening's host, Mike Schmidt, wrapped up his introduction by warning the night's 18 acts (read: more than Decider can reasonably jam into this already too long review) that they better honor their five-minute time limits or he would "force myself upon you."

"It's all comics here tonight," said first comic Adam Waldron to what was a decent-sized crowd for a Wednesday. "All the newbies. Hate newbies." He made condom jokes at the expense of his roommate, fellow comic Chris Waelti, and finished with a clever bit on reversing pickup lines into breakup fuck-off lines. (Waldron and Waelti also gave a nice video wedgie to a rancorous comment war that broke out on a recent Decider story.)

JoAnne Poniatowski, probably the best stand-up act of the night, followed through with a strong stage persona—almost playing the self-conscious, creepy lady, yet conversational—and such playfully demented musings as: "Bulimics don't give good blowjobs—but they probably have a leg up on anorexics, who won't even put it in their mouth." She proposed that people refer to making out as "pretzel time" and injected some sly wordplay as she dissected the phrase "bun in the oven."

This being open-mic night, it was okay for comics to head off the crowd by showing a bit of self-loathing. Sean Moore actually built himself a good stage presence, sarcastically grousing, "Fuckin' A! Open-mic night!" He also dug up one of pop music's lingering questions—"So what happened to Seal's face?"—and mocked the concept of NCAA brackets ("I'm not gonna pay $10 to do homework"). Up next was a nervous dude referred to only as Jerry, who did have at least one good bit going for him: proposing that homeless people be put on "permanent jury duty" as a job.

Randy Chestnut actually tours as a headlining comedian; so maybe a five-minute set doesn't give you the best impression. He had a professional polish to him and a generally friendly demeanor, finishing with a bit about having a testicular cancer scare. But hey, the open-mic isn't restricted to stand-up. Schmidt introduced Waelti and Alan Talaga (of The Dan Potacke Show) as Madison's newest improv team, "The Laffabouts," and the ensuing sketch disemboweled every crappy improv show you've ever seen. Like many improv groups, the Laffabouts are "family friendly" and have a little punishment for those who swear—or, in this case, simply mention the name "Peter" during an audience-participation bit. The offender, played by Moore, got a plastic bag wrapped around his head and passed out onstage. Funniest bit of the night.

Mark Kump picked up an acoustic guitar at the start of his slot, but mercifully, he's no Stephen Lynch. Instead, Kump built a creepy, self-serious songwriter character into his tunes. His first song centered around the protest chant, "No blood for oil, no tits for beads." The second, about courting a war widow, broached the touchy subject with such lines as "oh my little war widow, get out and strut."

The Daves (Labedz and Fisher) easily proved the most inventive act of the night. Decider was surprised to see Labedz there at all—not to mention decked out in a big suit—because he's also the lead vocalist for local death-metal band Buried Future. The act went like this: Labedz, the "stand-up," would do a bit that hinged on some obscure or arcane reference. Then Fisher, sitting on a stool, would consult a big book of notes (wedged inside a copy of High Times magazine) and dryly explain the reference. It started with relatively fact-based stuff (a joke about Milwaukee's breweries and past socialist mayors) but attained awesomeness as Labedz and Fisher spiraled into a bit about clever euphemisms for rape, starting with his "took his cabbage" (what is it with these fucking people and rape?).

From there, Fisher must've reeled off dozens of increasingly hilarious phrases, including "jumping cheese sandwich" and "Chapter 8: The Reckoning," as Labedz proceeded to explain that he made kimchi out of said cabbage because it's fermented underground, and he killed the guy and "since I was digging a shallow grave anyway." It ended up wandering off somewhere between free-jazz and Broom Street Theater, but the duo should get out there and keep picking up the kind of fans who appreciate the nerdy humor of Stephen Colbert and John Hodgman. Darryl Teske, the night's last, did well for a guy tasked with following Labedz and Fisher, and dealt smoothly with an obnoxious heckler: "I'm not a TV, so you need to shut the fuck up." Applause.

So, in short: Open-mics don't come with guarantees, but Wednesday's show offered up a few deadly funny bits, several comics developing in an enjoyable direction, only a few who were just a wreck, and no disasters to speak of (hey, the sets even stayed on schedule). Decider didn't roar constantly or hang on every line, but the point is really to watch comics at work, and some of them were by themselves worth more than the $2 cover.