Sometimes on stage I'll push a joke too far. You may have seen me do it.
It goes on and on and gets more and more abstract and abstruse and trips over itself and grows more and more tenuous and floats further and further away from any reality, including its own, like a cotton candy bridge over the Pacific.
When that happens, it's like ...
... when Jim the Barber puts the smock with the paper neckerchief on you, starts cutting but lets the conversation flag (TALK TO ME, Jim! TETHER me!), so you let your mind wander, and it astral-projects straight through the mirror-tunnel in front of you (formed in optical-illusion collusion with the huge mirror BEHIND you), hurtling you through a light-years-long portral , so you fly FAST (YouJimRoomYouJimRoomYouJimRoomYOUJIMROOM ZOOM ZOOM ZOOOOOM!!) into infinity, but at a curve ever so slightly off to the left (just like space, just like Space Mountain), and time goes unstuck, so you see incongruous stuff fly past ... mastodon bones; a pterodactyl; a Rubik's Cube; a page from the Gutenberg Bible; two googly-eye-topped pyramids like jagged, mouth-scraping, seeing-eye chocolate Toblerone spikes; a really old Mac Computer (DUCK!) ... until finally you've looped around so far and for so long that you come up behind your real, actual self in the present-moment barber chair, and as you're about to re-enter your body, you think ...
DAMN, I'm even balder than LAST month!
So you hand Jim $20, tell him to keep the change, go home, and wait for what's next.
That's what I do anyway.
