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One of the most clever songwriters and quick-witted live comedians in the business... with his high speed, low-drag act that constantly changes and evolves, Pat has such strong material and improv skills, no two shows are ever the same... not even close.
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Something About Her

IMG_0255The drunk Thursday night crowd at the Funny Bone in Evansville, Indiana back in March, 2005, was getting chatty, so I decided to wrap it up and segue into the closing bit and call it a night. As I was setting up the big finish with some “lonely guy on the road” patter, I said, “What do I have to do after the show, except go back to the Days Inn, room 203?” (The Days Inn was the sh*thole they put us up at and 203 was my friend, Mike Stankiwiecz’s room—the other comic on the show—not mine.) I finished up on a high note, thanked the crowd for coming and thought nothing about giving out Mike’s real Days Inn room number. Since I had radio interviews to do the next morning, I left Mike and the local M.C. at the bar, said my goodbyes to the staff, and started to leave. On my way out, an older woman, dressed in too-tight jeans and a hip, black leather jacket that was open and exposing her obvious breast augmentation, blocked the exit. She had one hand on the door and the other was pointing and shaking. At first, I thought her boldness was that she wanted to complain about something I said during the show, but then the playfulness in her eyes led me to believe otherwise. She introduced herself as Tracy, and went on to say how hilarious I was, and would I have please have a drink with her back at the bar. I politely refused her and the drink, muttered something about my radio responsibilities the next morning, and how I needed to get some sleep, blah, blah, blah… and she bought it. Phew, that was a close one. If she had been pretty and not born when Lincoln made speeches, I probably would have gone to those radio interviews dog dead tired.

The next day the radio went well, and I got back to my hotel room to do some pacing, moping, and napping before the 2 shows that night. Just then, someone knocked on the door and I hesitatingly answered it, half-expecting to give an English lesson to a Latino housekeeper regarding the “Do Not Disturb” sign. But it wasn’t Maria with towels, it was Tracy, with more compliments. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you were hilarious last night”, she said as I hid behind the door. She continued, “I knocked on 203 and the other comedian Mike laughed and told me your real room number. He said you’d probably love some company, too.” I said, “Yeah, I never give out my real room number; always the other comedian’s.” She went on to say that she lived in the apartment complex right behind our hotel and just HAD to stop by and tell me once again how great I was. “I haven’t laughed like that in a while, and it really stirred something deep inside me.” she purred. Before I could get her to leave, she said, “All I want is a little hug for making me feel good, since I’ve been so down in the dumps lately, ever since my husband’s been in jail.” I’m not the hugging kind, but I gave her the fastest hug in the history of awkwardness, and when she left, promptly went down to the front desk and changed my room AND my name. I am Biff Dirkwood, now… aging Cougar bait.

At the comedy club later that night I regaled everyone with the tale of the crazy, older biker broad who practically molested me at the Days Inn. As it turns out my stalker, Tracy, wasn’t a biker, but the Funny Bone manager Kim’s hairdresser and a part-time nurse. Kim said she wasn’t crazy at all and really sweet, just going through a tough time with her husband being in jail for selling drugs. “They were separated before he got arrested.” Kim said, “So she’s probably just really lonely and wanted a little attention.” “Well that’s not the way I saw it.” I said. “I think she’s a little crazy.” After a half hour hang, I walked back to the seedy Days Inn, and at the hotel was Tracy, my Sexagenarian stalker, crying. My earlier instincts were right, this broad is nuts. In the harsh, fluorescent light of the lobby she appeared not only old, but overly altered. I knew she had breast implants, but upon close inspection her face looked like she’d had a number of procedures over the years. Her cheekbones looked like 2 golf balls were shoved under the sides of her face, the eyes widened past the look of surprise, and her chin clefted unnaturally–like one of the Jackson 5 in later years. The tears had wiped away most of the heavy makeup, giving her a Kabuki-like glow as the desk clerked glared at the both of us. “Get her the f**k out of here,” he said. “The crazy bitch has been balling her eyes out all night.” As I ushered her out into the parking lot, she told me that her husband had called from jail and said that they were definitely getting divorced, and that she needed me to make her laugh. I told her she could’ve bought a ticket to the comedy show, and saved me the bizarre soap opera in the lobby. She then changed from a crazy old lady who need to laugh, to a crazy old lady who wanted to *merge*, by saying, “I have something for you… a little present. It’s back at my place. We could walk from here.”

I ended up back at her place against my will after she went totally bonkers in the Days Inn parking lot and threatened to kill herself. The “surprise” she wanted to give me was HER, coming out of the bathroom totally naked, in need of a little pube trim. Her legs were a lot more muscular than I thought they’d be, considering her age and gender. The strangeness of her plastic surgery in clothes, got even more mysterious in the nude. The low light of her efficiency apartment showed strange implants on her ass cheeks as she spun and sashayed before me. She kept saying, “Do you like what you see?” over and over again and a strange chill went up my spine. What was I seeing exactly? It finally dawned on me that this wasn’t some old Cougar, but a former Lion, and the “Something About Her” song is loosely based on that night. (Keep in mind this was 2005 and attitudes have changed since then, but it’s the duplicity involved that made this worthy of a snarky re-telling. Oh, and if you want closure on this chapter, and you’re wondering what my response was, think A Flock Of Seagulls’ only hit.)

Something About Her

There was just something about her
Something odd about her face
She’s gotta be about 60
What am I doing at her place?

Her voice was low and smoky
Like she’d been around the block
She gazed down at my pants
As I stared up at her clock

She asked me if I wanted a drink
I said, “No, I’ve got to go”
She says, “Wait, I got something for you”
But there’s something about her, I don’t know

Something about her, I don’t know
She came out completely naked
In the darkness of her efficiency
Stood there among the cats
And said, “Do you like what you see?”

I tried not to stare
It’s a woman after all
But the bush seemed awful high, though
Between Minneapolis and St. Paul

There’s something about her
Something strange is going on
And I don’t want any surprises
In the light of the crack of dawn

She’s aggressive and ballsy
As she pours me too much wine
She says that I look nice tonight
Funny, that’s my line

I feel her strong grip on my thigh
When it finally dawns on me
Yeah, there’s something about her
Something a lot like me
Something a lot like me

I excuse myself politely
And then bolt back to my hotel
I took a long Silkwood shower
To get rid of that litter box smell

Something’s amiss
When you turn leather into pink chiffon
There’s definitely something about her
I just can’t put my finger on

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