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Monday, April 16, 2012

Bridgetown Comedy Fest: I'm Never Going to Laugh Again, or Sunday Highlights

Posted by Courtney Ferguson on Mon, Apr 16, 2012 at 12:59 PM

So tired. But it was worth it. This year's Bridgetown Comedy Fest was an overwhelming barrage of stand-ups, podcasts, and shows. Laughs were had. A bunch of comedians got drunk. No one unleashed Andy Dick on our small metropolis.

I caught the first Sunday show, Kevin Allison's storytelling show Risk! at the Bagdad. Comedians tell stories about risque moments based around a theme. Sean Patton, with his gruff delivery and vaudevillian moves, told a show-stealin' story about going back to a crazy fan's house. Baron Vaughn's gay thug story was also delightful, but Adam Newman delivered the most universal message from Bridgetown comedians on the last day of the fest. "I feel bad. I keep taking all your delicious Portland food, and turning it into diarrhea."

Then it was some late-night antics at the Eagles Lodge for this girl (related: I keep drifting into daydreams about the velvety kisses of my pillow and piling warm cats on my reclining frame). The first show had too many styles, not enough momentum, and some drunken rambling. Jamie Lee did fantastic though, as did stalwart funnymaker Anthony Lopez, and the quirky, cartoon-voiced Mary Mack. The real draw was the late-night Erotic Fan-Fiction competition with a host of performers reading sexy/gross erotica. Covering Law & Order: SVU, Angry Birds, Grimm, Lord of the Rings, and Friday Night Lights, a whole shit-ton of dirty dirty acts were committed by your favorite fictional characters. It was fucking hysterical, and while I think Emily Heller's story about Ice-T's sodomizing ponytail probably should've won, it was Alex Koll's tale of Angry Birds' pig-on-bird love that got the glory. But that was just the pre-written fan-fic portion of the show—in the other room, five other comedians were penning on-the-spot dirty tales with audience's topic suggestions. Aparna Nancherla killed it with her Dora the Explorer story, narrowly beating out Ian Karmel's "Lemon Party," where Liz Lemon gets sent through the Dot Com and Grizz gauntlet. Truly it was the Eagles Lodge's security guard who made the show transcendental—skulking around stage left and shaking his head every time "plum-colored party ripples" were invoked in the name of vaginas. Funny, funny business.

It was too much of a good thing, but Bridgetown always is.


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