Calling All Angry Pirates

One fateful day in the late 1960s, a genome research team was commissioned by the United States Paranormal Comedy Department (USPDC) and given one mission: Genetically engineer the perfect comedian. From one canister containing a sample of George Carlin’s sperm (found on a Sears-Roebuck catalogue in a Howard Johnson in Woodland Hills, California), and another filled with Richard Pryor’s man-frutopia (found stuck to a ballerina hand rail in a Newark, New Jersey, YMCA) was born comedian Patrice O'Neal.

A dash of gamma radiation, the toe of a newt, a slice of Oscar Mayer bologna, and the concoction was complete: comedic mastery manifested in the form of a 300-pound diabetic black man. Now he roams the Earth, telling funny jokes, refusing to make DVDs and CDs of his performances, and embarrassing young, conservative white people. Lucky for you, he has roamed all the way to the edge of the peninsula, so from this Friday through Sunday, don’t miss your chance to see Patrice O'Neal at the Miami Improv. Twenty-one bucks gets you the privilege of buying two drinks and watching O'Neal talk about how your mother wears panties with dickholes in them — a true bargain.
Fri., May 8, 8:30 & 10:30 p.m., 2009