Man, oh, fucking, man, comedy here out west is EX-pensive.

For anyone who finds this post from my old ‘hood, ya’ll a bunch of whiney fucking crybabies when you bitch about the special place the All Asia. You know, like, “Oh, poor me, it was hard and no one could hear me and then I had to pay for my drink, and Patty wouldn’t give me a free one.” Boo – F’ing – Hoo.

Tonight was the All Asia with tougher acoustics, a sports bar atmosphere, a wireless mike sound system from Walmart, no mike stand, the same crowds and a $15 cover. Fucking hell.

Sure, the $15 included two drink tickets, but that is equivalent to nothing when the friends who drop by can’t/don’t drink. The ‘rita I had was a bargain, because I didn’t have to pay and at least the bartender sloshed a lot of tequila in the glass (which when you’re sharing with a non-drinker, and you’re both beyond tequila shooters on a Sunday night fun age, is actually not a treat), but the Cokes and water worked out as christly expensive.

I ended up picking up the dinner tab, because the combined 45-buck cover of my three friends seemed aggregious for a Sunday night showcase and four Cokes. I’m glad to do it for my friends, but man, I ain’t planning on paying to play.

And, for the first time in my life, I was at a sports bar that had shitty wings. Things sure is different here in the Bay Area. Good wings should be the one thing you can count on in a sports bar, beside aging frat boys in numbered jerseys and many TV screens.

One of my comedy dreams, except for riches and fame, is never, ever, ever to be handed a wireless mike in a wide-open, stage-less space again. Is a sound system intended to broadcast the human voice (and a mike stand) too much to ask?

I guess the bright side is on my learning curve. The silk purse/sow’s ear paradigm that produces mediocre comedy shows from the best intentioned folks holds true wherever you go. Cavernous bars with awkward sight lines and clusters of tables, chairs and couches set to face different screens and games do not transform themselves into temples of hilarity when new batteries are thrown into a wireless mike.

There were a couple of genuinely funny folks drowned out by feedback and acoustic hell, including the host who seems to be a genuinely nice and funny guy, who was kind enough to invite me. (For the Bostonians looking for a sense memory — remember Hannah’s?)

I’ll save it for another self-indulgent whine to mention that I performed behind a bar/counter feeling sunken, short and far away from the “crowd” on the other side.

As always, the best summation of most comedy shows: “Kill me now.”