A figure in the crowd at Mac’s Bar yells out the punch line to a joke about the similarities between the movie Ocean’s Thirteen and ill-fated rapper Tupac Shakur, and the bespectacled man on stage shouts a string of obscenities at him before offering five dollars to anyone in the crowd willing to “shoot the guy in the head.”
The man on stage is Neil Hamburger, an altogether unpleasant stand-up comedian who cradles two or more beverages in his arms during his entire act, who coughs and clears his throat more than dear old granddad on Thanksgiving – and who hates it when members of the audience step on his jokes.
He’s only kidding about murdering the man in the crowd, but he is unhappy with what has transpired. So, he hacks and makes a variety of repulsive noises to drown out any further fans from interjecting during the course of his act.
This is nothing new. This is what happens at Neil Hamburger shows regardless of the venue. It doesn’t take a trip to Lansing, Michigan on a frigid March evening to bring out the overzealous fans – they’re everywhere, waiting to blurt out the funny line they remember hearing in a video on YouTube.
After the bartender brings the comedian another drink, he is fine once again and plows through his repertoire of “What’s the difference between…” and “What do you get when…” jokes with his characteristic deadpan delivery.
The Hamburger Alter-Ego
The jokes are funny, sure, but Hamburger himself is the real draw. He’s a character, in the literal sense. Neil Hamburger does not exist; he is a persona created by Gregg Turkington, a San Francisco artist and musician who, after slicking his hair in an unfashionable comb-over and donning a tuxedo, becomes “America’s Funnyman.”
Nothing is sacred for the forty minutes this alter-ego is on stage. His tasteless shots at everything from Paris Hilton and the second-rate quality of Domino’s Pizza to Down syndrome and sexual deviants leave those in attendance shaking their heads with glee. It’s only during his “loving tribute” to the late Academy Award-winning actor Heath Ledger that a collective groan issues forth, followed by a solitary voice shouting “Too soon!”
But, like Tupac before him, Ledger becomes a punch line whether the audience approves or not. And really, it’s hard to imagine someone who would not approve bothering to come to a Neil Hamburger show in the first place.
Small Crowd, Big Laughs
Of the roughly fifty folks scattered across the bar on this wintry night, it’s unlikely that any of them are unfamiliar with the comedian’s gimmick. They know what they’re in for before they even pay the seven-dollar entry fee at the door.
And every vile Madonna joke, every reference to some celebrity’s genitalia, feeds the crowd’s hunger. They eat it up like so much mediocre Domino’s Pizza.
Unfortunately, before they can get their fill, Hamburger is checking his watch and eying the door. He briefly mentions his famous (among fans) “zipper lips” routine and leaves the stage. Of course, Mac’s Bar does not have a backstage area, so he humbly exits through the crowd.
Nobody bothers him on his way out. Nobody shouts at him like they do when he’s performing. He simply walks past without incident, leaving everyone to ponder the question he posed earlier in the night: What is the difference between Courtney Love and the American flag?
