The items that G smashed last night, in order:
Pork and beans
Some sort of red substance (strawberry sundae sauce, I think)
Cottage cheese in container
Lettuce stuffed with flour
Birthday cake (into the faces of children assembled on stage)
Mashed potatoes (again)
I’m probably going to write a column or something about this next week, but suffice it to say the show was enjoyable, particularly in the vein of things on Hilton Head that are supposed to be entertaining end up being about as exciting as burned carpet. He was crude, witty, mean, snarky, gross, silly, clever and woefully dated on issues that haven’t challenged the mass paradigm since Bush 1 was vomiting on heads of state. He certainly hates the French, could do without the Mexicans, and had lots to say about “these Arabs” and “the homosexuals.” Good times. Luckily, there were none of the above in the room.
But despite all those perhaps off-color comments, I was impressed that each time he went on a seemingly un-PC rant, at least it was to set up a joke. He wasn’t just slinging blind comments about slutty girls or whatnot around. Example: he asked what the hell is wrong with these girls who get tattoos. “Girls, you’re not supposed to get tattoos!” He railed specifically against girls with tats on their lower back, and said butterflies there were particularly stupid. This drew loud applause from some parts of the crowd, though not my plus-one Ginny, who has a tattoo of butterflies on her lower back.
Then the joke: “It’s like the butterflies think your ass is a daffodil!”
This made me laugh, lightly. Had it just been a rant against girls with tattoos, I would have asked the person next to me politely why I was suddenly in my grandfather’s living room in 1974.
After the show, I went closer to the stage to take a cell phone pic, where I slipped and nearly took a face dive into the plastic-covered floor now swimming in bits of watermelon, side dishes and canned Italian food products. This would have significantly changed my opinion of the night.