Jerry beamed with ego as he sat behind the front table of the prestigious Snicker Workshop comedy club. He had been selected to perform his latest stand-up routine, "Hyuck Tales," in front of an audience of the most reputable connoisseurs of comedy. Next to him sat his neighbor Cosmo Kramer, who was complaining because he couldn't see the stage due to the tall red hair of the audience member in front of him.
"They all have the same brick wall background," said Jerry. "What exactly do you think you're missing, Kramer? The man in front of me is both tall and wide, and you don't see me throwing a tantrum."
A bald man in a grey suit waddled up onto the stage. "Welcome to Snicker Workshop's fifth annual open mic night," he said.
"Open mic night?!" asked Jerry. "I thought I had been selected to perform?"
"Oh, you have been selected," laughed the bald man. "Selected to read first! Please give a warm welcome to…what's your name, sir?"
"Jerry Seinfeld," he muttered and clumsily leaped onto stage. Some prestigious comedy club, though Jerry, I can't even see the faces of the audience members in this pitch black! Where's Kramer?
Jerry coughed twice, signaling the beginning of his act. "So, I was watching Goof Troop the other day, followed by some classic Mickey Mouse shorts like 'Steamboat Willie' and 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice,' and I was thinking, what's the deal with Goofy and Pluto anyway? How can Mickey Mouse keep a clean conscience and image when he has enslaved a creature of the same species as one of his closest friends? And then his arch-nemesis Pete only has one leg? What's up with that? Somebody alert the political correctness movement that their beloved Mickey Mouse is an ableist! And don't get me started on the ducks. I was shopping in my local supermarket right after a six-hour DuckTales marathon on the Disney Channel, and I came across a carton of Donald Duck Orange Juice! What do ducks know about the quality of oranges, or any other food for that matter? They can't even chew! And what about Scrooge McDuck? After he eats his oranges, does he have to wait an hour before diving into his swimming pool of gold coins? Liquid food, solid pool! The things they're getting away with in cartoons nowadays. I mean, did you ever notice how everybody and their uncle has a nephew or three in DuckTales? What, are they not able to conceive so they have to steal their brother or sister's offspring? 'Gee, Donald, I just got my test results back and it turns out we won't be having any ducklings anytime soon.'" Jerry followed up that attempt at capturing the voice of Daisy Duck with a spot-off Donald Duck impression that had the unseen audience audibly chuckling. "'Don't worry, Donald, it's good that you weren't an only child, or otherwise I'd be turning myself in to the down jacket company right about now!' You know, in case you're wondering why a grown man such as myself watches all these duck and mouse 'toons, it's because I got my own litter of nephews hanging around my apartment all day. To tell you the truth, I don't really care about Scrooge and the triplets' adventures to Atlantis or Fort Knox or anything, but man, would I savor a night in bed with that Magica DeSpell! She's second on my list after Lois Lane! And as a matter of fact, I did get a night with Magica last night, and it went pretty well until she realized what the pillows were made of! Goodnight, Snicker Workshop, it's been fun!" With a slight bow, Jerry stepped off the stage into the darkness.
"Great job, Jerry, but I was just talking to Newman and I think you've got some competition tonight," said Kramer as Jerry took his seat.
"Newman?" laughed Jerry. "Newman couldn't tell a joke if his appetite depended on it."
"Hello, Jerry," said the portly man sitting in front of him in a falsely jovial tone.
"Hello, Newman," snapped Jerry.
"And for our next act, let's give some warm snaps for New York City's new Poet Laureate, Norman E. Newman!"
"I don't care if he is the Poet Laureate, this is a comedy club," muttered Jerry as Newman plopped his body onto the stage.
"This first one is called 'For All the Times,'" said Newman as 50,000 fingers snapped in rhythm.
"For all the times I'd been upstaged," grumbled Jerry. "Let's get out of here, Kramer."
"Jerry, I'm enjoying this! And after Newman's poetry reading, there's going to be a blind violinist, and then an albino belly dancer, and then a blue-faced performance artist, and then a choir of yodelers, and then a clown…"
"This isn't a comedy club, it's a three-ring circus!" snapped Jerry and exited the club without Kramer.