DEATH BY HARMONICA - 200motels LIVE COMEDY ACT performed at The Comic Strip 11/22/06.

I lost 5 pounds in one day. I changed my underwear. But people still call me fat. “Here comes old fatso!” they say. People tell me they can see me coming around the corner while I’m still in the middle of the block.

Yeah, I’m fat! THE FATMAN! Ho ho ho I’m freakin’ fat! I took off a couple hundred pounds but I still can’t fit into my Santa Claus suit.

I’m so fat, I don’t leave a ring around the tub – I leave stretch marks. Peeping toms reach in the window and pull down the shade. I had my blood tested and my blood type came back “Ragú.” I turned around and my friends threw me a Welcome Home party.

I’m sick of cell phones. Now you got to hear everybody’s personal business. Even when it’s nasty, it’s boring. This broad was yakking into her cell phone, “He raped me. And the next morning he raped me again!”

Why don’t they get a harmonica instead? [pulls out harmonica and plays a few bars] I figured out a way to jam the harmonica up my ass, and now I can play duets.

And now, ladies and germs, a new feature of our show – The News From France! [plays a few bars from “La Marseilleise” on the harmonica]

You know you’re in France when an airliner flies over and it’s got hair under its wings.

You know you’re in France when you’re driving through a city and you see the toilet paper hanging out to dry.

The French made a movie about America and they called it “Dude, Where’s My Cheese?”

The French are smarter than we are: they invented a birdbath for the pussy.

But French is the only language that has no word for soap. Though, they have fourteen words for “fart.”

The last time I was in France I fell in love with a beautiful French girl named Paulette. “Oh, baby,” I told her, “You got everything I love in a woman. Your mouth smells like garlic, your feet smell like cheese and your butt smells like fish. (It must be Friday) How about me and you hop into the trunk of your subcompact car and get our rocks off?”

She said, “Oh anything for you my American dreamboat of a fatman. But first I want to hear your big hit record on the charts with a bullet, or you ain’t driving nowhere tonight, buddy!”

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I know when I’m licked – all over! I took out my harmonica and started playing. [plays the first few bars of “La Vie en Rose”]

Quand tu me prends dans tes bras
Et tu me parles tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose-eh

And Paulette cried, “Oh, my big fat stinking cheese of a man, give it to me! GIVE ME THE FRENCH BREAD IN THE CULO, I WANT IT SO MUCH!”

Just then, in through the door barges Paulette’s boyfriend, Marcel Leboeuf, the toughest truck driver in Marseilles, who has just broken out of St. Vincent de Paul Penitentiary, which is a jail that is so tough [audience asks: “How tough is it?”] which is so tough that even the cockroaches got tattoos!

And Marcel Leboeuf is holding a knife in one hand and a razor in the other hand, and he’s got a gun sticking out of his pants!

And Marcel Leboeuf says to me, “Fucking English!” He says “Fucking English, I’m going to cut off your stinking “couilles” and shove them into your fucking black hole of a “cul.”

Well, without going into a detailed translation, I realized I was in a world of fucking “merde.”

But then I remembered: the only thing the Frenchmen can’t resist is music. So I took out my axe and started playing:

Allez venez milord
Vous assesoir a ma table
Il fait si froid dehors
Ici c’est comfortable

And Marcel grabbed Paulette and the two of them started dancing around the room.

Seizing my opportunity, I jumped off the balcony onto the sidewalk, ran down into the métro and took the train back to my hotel.

And that’s the story of my great French love affair.

[Audience starts booing and throwing tomatoes]

See you all next week – if they let me.

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Posted on 11/24/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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