Comedy Club

What is the shelf life of a shelf? Why is there boxing at the Goodwill Games? Does the remote control go inside the dinner knife or outside the soup spoon?

You will learn the answer to these and other pressing questions at Keith Dion's comedy club. We found Keith covered in dry wall, nails between his teeth, renovating without help. Keith works 12 hours a day and has totally given up on Disney World.

Shaking hands, Keith tickled my palm the way you do in third grade.

"Come. Sit. But don't touch anything, or I'll kill ya."

Keith handles booking, bouncing, accounting, carpentry, and oh yes, performing. He says it's like a marathon, only instead of being handed Gatorade, you occasionally get hit by a two-by-four. So it goes.

To a sane onlooker, the club's revenues don't stand a chance against expenses. Fortunately, Keith is not sane.

"All in a day's work," he said, lighting his cigarette with a clown-like trembling hand.

Recently Pauly Shore pulled out of his dates, the city called with bad news, and Keith had a computer crash (threw his monitor to the ground).

"I'm an even-tempered guy," he said, "but once every four or five years, something snaps."

So what do you do when your happy place drives you to drink? You warm up the show!

"Today I put five dollars of gas in my car-just enough to get me to the next station."

You'd think that Keith would be stuffed with humor, as in "if I hear one more witty remark, I'm going to puke." Not so.

"Humor keeps me healthy," says Keith. "That's why I smoke-to balance it out."


Keith was the first to give me stage time all those moons ago. I did five minutes on how I'm not gay but do carry a purse ... well, not a purse but a messenger bag-I need a place for my Purell! The audience didn't throw things, but they should have.

Before curtain, I had confessed to Keith my stage fright.

"The stage won't hurt you," he said. "What you should really be afraid of is all those people judging you."

"Blue humor" goofs on race, religion, drugs, and parts of the body where your bathing suit covers. Keith's club, then, is light blue: The F-word is used artistically. And if you don't like it, you can BLEEPedy BLEEP the BLEEPing BLEEP ... BLEEPer.

Keith is always caught between boring the 20-year-olds and offending the 50-year-olds. So he mixes it up-one Latino act, one female act, some guy who thinks Purell is funny.

"Comedy is like music," says Keith. "Not everyone likes rap or country or techno, but if you play a variety, people don't hit you with two-by-fours."

By the time you and I get to the club, the candles are lit, music is playing, and our biggest concern is Michelob vs. Corona. We don't see Keith cursing at the sound board, briefing comedians, or rewriting jokes between sets.

"One of these days I'll have enough money to finish my stage. Then I'll move on to my lifelong dream: getting a toupee."

So why does Keith carry on?

"Because life's too funny to work in a cubicle."

No matter how many Pay-Rents-or-Quits, overtime Sundays, or two-by-fours to the gut, Keith will be here cracking jokes, tickling palms, and reminding others to lighten the BLEEP up.

And it's always enough to get him to the next station.