Christian comedy and Washington, D.C.

For about the last 40 years, I wanted to start a Christian comedy club.

Club Agape: Where you don’t pay through the nose for what you suck through the mouth. Maybe someday.

The idea came after visiting a comedy club in St. Charles, Illinois, at Pheasant Run Resort.

You could get in “free.” You just paid $10 in drinks per person minimum (that included Coca-Cola).

The routines were OK, and we did get to see one person who’s famous now and wasn’t then (Blake Clark, who played Harry Turner, owner of Harry’s Hardware on “Home Improvement”). I would have been OK without the vulgarity, which is what caused one couple to walk out, and got me thinking about the clean comedians of yesteryear, like Bill Cosby, who is now considered by some to be a “dirty” old man.

I digress.

Kudos to Seth and Tonya Pacey of The Pacey Apothecary, who have recently started a comedy club that already seems to be a big Seymour hit. Called “Stand up at the Apothecary,” it’s located at 125 W. Second St. and currently holds comedic events from time to time as announced.

Writing humor columns is hard enough. Being a stand-up comedian is especially challenging.

So I don’t have to actually get in front of an in-person group to try out my “schtick,” I’ll try it here and mix a little of me with a little of D.C.

I come out onstage.

Hi, my name is Les, but I want to be more, so I compromised and changed my name to “Mike” because I want to be held (note to self: embrace the same with both hands).

People are always “speaking” into Mikes, and I figure I need all the help I can get.

Another great thing about Mikes? They’re very “open.” When was the last time you heard about an Open Bill night? Do you want to hold a Bill? Unless your name is Hillary, I don’t think so, and even then, that’s up for debate.

Do you speak into your bills?

I do. “Come on. There’s no way you’re that high this month,” or “I paid you already,” or “You blankety blank blank.” People swear at their bills. I don’t want to be sworn at. I think I’ll just be a Mike instead. Talking to your bills isn’t really a problem. It’s when they start talking back to you, that’s when it becomes an issue.

For instance, you might tell your water bill, “You’re way too high” and then it responds with, “Of course I am. I get sent out from Colorado. Besides, you had so much fiber last month. You did all that flushing, remember? You did so much, you should move to New York.”

And speaking of Bills, if you are one, you often spend your time in Congress — and you’re expected to pass — not much of a life expectancy there, and it doesn’t say much for your gastrointestinal system either (see also “flushing”).

Bills start out in the House of Representatives and are “sponsored” (even if you’re already a citizen — sounds redundant, I know). Next, you’re assigned to a committee for study. Who wants to be under a microscope? No wonder “Bills” want to be passed before they’re “read.”

If you’ve passed inspection — the committee “releases” you — you’re free. Thankfully, God so loved you that he didn’t send a committee for that to be accomplished in your life.

But wait. There’s more.

Once released, you get to appear on a calendar, where the politicians get to “eww” and “ahh” about your appearance. And if they like what they see, they will vote on you — or possibly debate you — or even amend you. I have enough to deal with. I don’t need any extra amendages. Your calendar visit will have the likes of New York City firefighters and Chippendale models envious.

If the majority of representatives like you, you’re “passed” on to the Senate, where you’re reviewed by their committee and they determine whether you’ll stay in bondage or be released, and if they release you, like their House peers, they may debate you and vote on you again.

As if that weren’t enough, a conference committee (made up of both House and Senate members) dissects you (“Mr. Bill — Oh noooooooooo!”). The final version of yourself — the new and improved you — gets voted on by both houses of Congress, and (drumroll please) if you’re approved there, the Government Printing Office re-dresses you by putting your final form in print so that whoever the commander in chief is, she — I mean he — can sign you into law.

Of course, she (or he) has 10 days to put the ink of office to your paper or you can be vetoed and realize the futility of political life.

You may be wondering how to locate the Government Printing Office midst the maze of Washington, D.C., buildings. Simple: They’re the ones printing all of the money, so they have the most trees at their immediate disposal.

Once the president has signed you, you’re ready for action, where you get to hear everyone that’s annoyed with you. The loudest protesters are easy to pick out. They’re the ones who never voted for anyone to begin with.

Let’s review.

When you’re a Bill, you always come in last because everybody’s “passing” you. Additionally, when you’re a House Bill (see also “water variety”), you take on the personality of a vagrant, as you’re expected to “move” to the Senate.

So what’s my next move — Club Agape?

Possibly. In the meantime, maybe I’ll step up to the Seymour City Council Mike and propose a few bills.

Les Linz of Seymour writes the “Humor: More or Les” column. For information about Linz, visit his author page. Send comments to [email protected]