With an alarmingly lighter-than-usual crowd, as more than half the room’s seats are vacant upon the completion of the standup pre-show, Omid Singh fills in for Josh Meyrowitz as he runs on stage shirtless to initiate the chants of ”battle! battle! battle!”
Mia Mars is brought to stage first for our premiere undercard, with the Adams Family theme playing her up courtesy of Coach Tea. She seems downright gleeful at the pick.
“I chose this song”
“It chose you.” – Moses.
Kayla Bernadette is brought to stage next, some non-sequitur pre-battle lines are mangled and Mike Lawrence weighs in.
“These look like the two saddest people on President Oprah’s campaign team.”
With that, Kayla Bernadette is volunteered to go first.
“Mia, you might be Jewish, but your busted ass face looks like an open-casket funeral.”
There’s stone silence save for the dozen-or-so in the crowd who can’t help but cry out “what?” at this portrait of incomprehensible jibber-jabber. It’s actually perfectly wrong as a joke in every way. Just try and find the logic in it: “you might be Jewish” (jury’s out) “but” (in spite of this fact) “your busted ass face looks like an open casket funeral.” (you funeral-faced BITCH). There isn’t a single phrase or idea in the sentence that has any reason for following what came before it. It’s beautiful. Mia Mars returns fire in the hopes of capitalizing on the flop.
“Oh, you’re better at serving smoothies than comebacks…”
Not gonna do it. She continues over the silence.
“Kayla loves Jews so much that her vagina has a deli counter.”
With that we see our first solid pop of the exchange and things begin to heat up. Kayla Bernadette returns fire.
“Alright, Wednesday-afternoon-at-the-strip-club Adams.”
Another solid pop as we begin moving in the right direction. She follows up.
“Alright. True story, Mia accidentally lit a man on fire once. Yeah. Yeah, that’s what happens when you play tag in the oven.”
Fuck. What? “You accidentally light a man on fire when you play tag in the oven,” is neither an insult nor a joke, nor is it even a complete idea. A few audience members ooh and ahh at the simple fact that someone used the word “oven” while most others remain silently perplexed. Mia Mars looks to gain some more ground.
“Thank you, Kayla Burned-to-death. People think Kayla’s not an easy person to talk to but she actually really is if you’ve got $3.99 a minute.”
Fuckin’ nope. Kayla?
“Alright, but why do you also look like you drink gasoline when, uh, [inaudible trailing off], nevermind… Okay anyways, another true story, Mia got gonorrhea from a goth guy and I’m pretty sure if you fuck her your dick will also burn for 8 days too.”
“Jew joke… they’re all Jew jokes. It’s true though, she is right about that beginning comment, I did smoke my dog’s ashes, and I’ll smoke you too, because you’re my bitch.”
The match is over, and the judges weigh in.
“Lotta Holocaust jokes up there. Like the holocaust, I want this to never happen again.” – Jason Sklar
Without enough audience support for either competitor, Coach Tea is awarded the victory and both Mia and Kayla leave the stage with a dreaded double-loss to their records.
Finally, we move on to some higher quality clashes as the first of our final two play-in brackets are locked up with Paige Wesley taking on Katrina Davis.
“Every black man in this room is like ‘I don’t know which one to choose!’” – Mike Lawrence
Paige Wesley draws first blood.
“Katrina has two crayon tattoos pointed at her crotch, just to remind everyone tricks are for kids.”
“Paige wrote an erotic vampire novel to explain why all the guys she fucks disappear in the daylight.”
“Thank you, Yuppie Goldberg.”
“No problem, Daria if she ate her feelings.”
“Any time, Ho-journer truth… nothing? Do you guys not know fucking history? Fuck all of you… The only thing whiter than the guys Katrina fucks are her ashy knees.”
“I fuck white guys, but I fuck the good ones. It’s not like my pussy is sponsored by H&M.”
“Nonsense, they don’t have a size that small. They don’t have ‘crackhead 2.’”
“Paige quit musical theater because she never got the lead role. Which is bullshit because rolls are clearly something she leads in.”
“Katrina and I both have an interesting relationship with bread. I love it, and she looks like the buckwheat you can’t buy at Whole Foods.”
“Good job, Jesus Christ Super-sized Star… you know… fucking Paige…”
Suddenly it’s every battler’s nightmare for Katrina Davis as she can’t seem to remember her next joke. Saudi Prince interjects:
“Does you owner not let you speak?”
The room explodes, and Paige jumps at the opportunity to dig the knife in deeper.
“You know, Katrina, I know you want be on Roast Battle season 3, but with jokes like that, the revolution will not be televised.”
Katrina continues to search for the words.
“Come on, Borin’ Hill.”
“Paige is a Christian woman in Los Angeles, which I admire. Because it’s hard to let God in your heart when it’s already full of cholesterol.”
“Katrina bears a very strong resemblance to her father, but an even stronger resemblance to whoever the police are looking for right now.”
“Maybe Paige is right and God is real, because however she managed to lose her virginity is the real Big Bang.”
“You know what? Katrina’s been so single, the only action she gets is affirmative action.”
“You know, I gotta give it up to Paige, she’s a real feminist. She stands for women, but only for like 15 minutes before she needs to rest.”
The judges deliberate a bit weighing the fact that, although Paige had more rebuttals and Katrina completely forgot her joke for a full minute, when she was able to get her jokes out, they did more or less hit harder across the board, and ultimately Katrina Davis takes the win against a rare underperformance from Paige Wesley.
Ramsey Badawi and David Lucas are next to close out the show. David slowly saunters to stage to some ribbing from the Sklars and Mike Lawrence, and Ramsey Badawi volunteers to fire the first shot.
“David drives a Dodge Challenger. The challenge: moving David.”
“Thank you, nigga, we know what you drive. Booty-holes. This mothafucka look like a gay-ass Aladdin. This nigga take niggas on a magical dick ride.”
“David you’ve never even met a gay person. The closest you’ve been to a fruit is a swisher sweet.”
“That was pretty cool. We know you the mayor of West Hollywood, nigga. He made it a law that all men gotta squat when they pee.”
“Thank you very much, every customer I’ve ever seen at Cricket Wireless.
David, you look like you cried the day you found out Suge Knight wasn’t a pastry”
“You look like Drake got bit by a gay vampire that couldn’t do comedy, nigga.”
“Thank you very much, I appreciate that, every TSA agent who’s ever hassled me.”
“Only bombs you do is in the stage, nigga.”
“As evidenced by the crowd laughing… David is proof that black lives have a lot of matter.”
Jeremiah Watkins runs to stage and spends a solid minute trying to smash a pink children’s guitar that refuses to crack.
“That’s still intact… If only your jokes were that strong, David.”
The crowd is now at a feverish howl at the systematic destruction of David Lucas. Lucas attempts to interject.
“This shit is nuts, like the parade in West Hollywood, nigga.”
“Again? I’m gonna let David finally do a joke…”
“God damn, you fruity booty-ass boy… Nigga, you look like the only leprechaun in ISIS, nigga”
“As David just pointed out, I am Muslim. On September 11th, we took down two buildings. We would’ve took down another one if he wasn’t hanging off of it, swatting down helicopters.”
“Can’t win against this snuggly cuddly motherfucker. Nigga, you look like a gay ass lumberjack. You got a chainsaw full of glitter and toenail clippings and shit, nigga.”
“You look like a buffalo and the hunter at the exact same time… Not all hits…Little known fact about David, he actually grew up in a trap house. For those of you white people who don’t know, a ‘trap house’ is what blood calls David’s arteries.”
“We all know I’m fat, nigga. My cholesterol so high, you’d need a step stool to get to it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s shorter, me, or the time you spent with your daughter before you lost custody.”
As the battle comes to a close, there is little deliberation from our judges as to whether or not the well-crafted lines of Ramsey Badawi should take the W over the potpourri of mismatched homophobic slurs we saw from David Lucas, marking another in a long series of should-be humbling losses for David Lucas, who to date has still not taken these as a sign that he should try writing jokes before battling.
With that ends the play-in brackets, as the 16 slots are now set for our 2018 tournament to officially start next week. We’ll see you then, you fruity booty-ass boys.
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