That Asshole Drake: A Night Of Stand-Up Comedy And Fucking A Chick Who’s Really Fucked Up In The Head

By Drake Moreau

The Beijing Comedy Club has been trying to gather a lineup of comics and failing miserably. People are just generally not funny. Which is why it’s my job to appear at these showings and laugh – just not at their jokes. They are so fucking horrible and stupid that it’s funny they think they’re funny.

A few weeks ago the BCC made a big deal about their biggest night, held at Tun Bar off Sanlitun South Street. First of all, if you want to promote your organization, don’t hold an event on the sketchiest, dirtiest, grimiest street in Beijing, which makes the streets of South Central feel like my grandmother’s retirement home. And Tun? Is this a joke? My friend told me her younger sister once got her neck licked by a dude for no reason at that place. If you want to hold stand-up at a bar of neck-lickers, be my guest. Just be prepared for the consequences.

I met up with Freddy at Luga’s Villa beforehand for some drinks. I remember sitting there and taking shot after shot of tequila because the deal was 5 shots for 55 RMB. Freddy and I split two racks. Maybe three. Then we proceeded to Tun.

We walked into the middle of some jerk-off’s routine about “crazy Chinese culture.” Real original, buddy – a white dude bitching about China being “super crowded” and “pushy” and its people “looking the same” (which, by the way, IS RACIST… but true, since they do all look the same) is about as funny as saggy tits. Use your fucking brain to come up with something different. Here’s a tip: the best comedians make fun of themselves. Start there.

The final act was a guy named Ryan Ha. Here he is at his debut. The craziest parts – and my favorite – are when he starts degrading women, talking about how he was about to fuck this bitch but can’t because his penis is too small for the condom. On this night, Ryan was going off on another uninspired, overused bit about China when someone from the crowd screamed, “That’s racist!” My love for this heckler swelled immediately. Flustered, Ryan screamed into the mic, “Oh man, I’m gon’ have to slap this bitch right heah” (he speaks in a ghetto black accent, don’t worry about it). That comment prompted someone from the heckler’s table to throw popcorn or some other shit at him. I yelled out, “Fuck her up!” or something. I had taken three more shots and downed a couple beers since arriving, so I was pretty incoherent. I think Ryan said something like he’d see that person off stage after the show or some other ridiculous threat. I was riotously amused. All my assumptions about Beijing’s deficiency in talent, creativity, and inspiration were confirmed.

After the event, Freddy went home to his girlfriend, so I thought it’d be best to hit up a consistent hook-up I’ve had for the past couple weeks. We’ll call her “Marla” since I just watched Fight Club and Marla Singer is a pretty cool character. In a lot of ways, my chick’s like Marla, mainly in that she’s just really fucked up in the head. Let the following be your example.

Completely and utterly intoxicated, I stumble to her place. No recollection of how I get there, but all of a sudden I’m climbing stair after stair, probably because the elevator wasn’t operating (I remember this happened another time). I can’t remember what floor she lives on, so I actually go to a floor above her apartment and start banging on doors. I try being as loud as possible. In the back of my mind I seem to recall that she lived with her family, but this doesn’t register as something for me to be concerned about. Eventually – out of drunk intuition, or maybe a text – I realize she lives on the floor below, so I go down and find her. I’ve barely stepped into her room when she’s on top of me and savagely ripping my clothes off. I swear, it could have been a National Geographic special. Her mouth and tongue were everywhere, hands sending clothes flying, legs suffocating me. Then she asks if I have a condom. I tell her I’m all out (I had meant to pick some up but got sidetracked). So I figure, Well, that’s it, no sex tonight. But in my drunken stupor, to my surprise and delight, I feel a hand grabbing my boner. Marla had fully taken over. Nothing was going to stop her from getting hers. Frankly, I was pretty proud of myself that I could even perform, given the amount I had to drink. Unfortunately, I hadn’t peed recently, and Marla’s continuous bouncing and pounding pushed my bladder into a place of so much discomfort that I had to admit I wasn’t going to finish anytime soon and needed to piss before her bed became one of China’s many public washrooms. Marla has a bathroom connected to her bedroom, so I got up, bare-assed, and went. It felt amazing. Let me tell you, of all the physical sensations the body experiences, I honestly believe that nothing is more enjoyable, relieving, and enhancing than when you haven’t peed in FOREVER and suddenly release it all. I walk back into her room, prepared to just pass out and enjoy a nice sleep. As I hit the bed, though, Marla turns to me and says, “Can you wash your hands?” If you don’t understand just how fucking batshit, ridiculously absurd this is, think about it. She had just decided to have sex with me without a condom (I would have too, trust me, I’m totally clean – no seriously, I am). That’s Point No. 1. Then, I’m totally naked. Meaning, when I pee, I don’t have to unbuckle a belt, undo a button or zipper, or even touch my dick. All I have to do, really, is stick my waist out. In fact, since I had a raging boner still, I had to stand back slightly and bend down. Point is, I really didn’t touch myself at all during the whole pissing. I didn’t need to. I was naked! So coming back to bed to hear her ask me to wash my hands… I honestly cannot express the outrage, frustration, and surprise I felt at her dumbness. Needless to say, I said no, I am not washing my hands.

Her response: “Can you at least put on some hand sanitizer?”

Drake Moreau can be reached at drake@beijingcream.com. |Drake Archives|

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