The Automatik

The Howlin’ Wolf
November 9, 2001

Is nothing sacred? Not for David Cross, and thank God. The September 11 terrorist attacks, retarded people, President Bush, Christians, Scientologists, and even urine drinkers are all targets of his blisteringly liberal yet refreshingly politically incorrect rants.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect of this show, as he was billed with two other acts, Without Annette and Ultrababyfat. The crowd was large and diverse, but I managed to score a barstool thanks to these two nice guys standing near me. Without Annette was an improv comedy troupe, very similar to Whose Line Is It Anyway? or Comedy Sportz (for you Southern California residents). They were local and actually quite funny.

The Without Annette cast performed, then introduced a protest singer who turned out to be David Cross with an obviously fake beard. He performed two goofy songs then proceeded to introduce the band, Ultrababyfat, who are friends of his from Atlanta, GA. They weren’t too bad, kinda reminding me a bit of early Veruca Salt. I was amused to note that one of the girl singer/guitarists was the same girl I’d chatted with in the bathroom earlier, when I had complimented her on her cool necklace.

David Cross performed next, and perform he did. He must have been up there for two hours. I was a giddy mess, giggling and clapping and shrieking with laughter. There were so many funny things I can’t remember them all. I half wish I’d brought a mini-tape recorder with me, just to listen to all the best parts again. There was this extremely annoying crowd of loud, drunk frat boys/sorority gals shouting banalities behind me. They were so loud, in fact, that everyone around me kept turning around in shock and disgust that they would be that rude. Their conversations were something like, “DUDE, DID YOU SEE THE GAME LAST WEEK mumble mumble mumble” and “OH MY GOD, LIKE I TOTALLY COULDN’T BELIEVE blah blah blah.” At one point one of them actually said, “DUDE, DID YOU EVER WATCH SCTV?” I kept telling them to shut the fuck up but it didn’t work very well. David Cross did a couple of bits from his HBO special, including “the Virgin Mary raped me” one and about 20 minutes later, Drunk Frat Boy shouts out “THE VIRGIN MARY!” I was so embarrassed for him. David Cross stops, mid-schitck and asks the crowd, “Did I just hear what I think I heard?” We were all, “Yes, you did.” He shook his head, “No way did I just hear that. No way. Really?” Sigh.

After the show, I hooked up with my friend Jeanette and we went down to Decatur Street for some food. I was starvo! We ran into Chris (it was his birthday and he was rather enoying himself, if you catch my drift) and he informed us that David Cross was just here and now he’s headed down the street! Well, that was all it took for me to bolt down to El Matador where I saw him soggily ensconced in a booth. I heard the strains of AC/DC’s “Big Balls” on the jukebox and I knew it was a Kodak moment. Jeanette bought a shot of Peach Schnapps (but only because they were out of Watermelon flavor) for me to present to David, in the hopes that he would drink it and take a photo with me. But the poor thing was just in a state. His eyes were practically crossing and closing. I asked him if he was okay and he said yeah. I told him I’d wanted to take a photo with him, but if he was feeling too wasted, if the flash would just push him over the edge, I didn’t have to. He smiled bravely and sweetly agreed. “No, no, come over. Let’s take the picture.” I put my arm around the shoulders of a tiny gypsy clown. Jeanette snapped the photo as I smiled Cheshire-style. I gushed just a little about how awesome he was, thanked him about 5 times and reiterated my concern that he was okay.

When last call was announced, his posse gathered themselves to leave. Jeanette went up to one of them and tried to encourage them to go to The Abbey, a dark and dirty bar down the street. The girl barks, “Right, that’s JUST what we need, another BAR” as she half-pulled/half-carried David out. He mumbled and slurred something, stumbling along dangerously. He looked like a sleepy toddler being dragged off to bed. Sweet dreams, little funnyman.