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Kevin Hart isn’t that cool. With four sold out shows at the Fillmore for the South Beach Comedy Festival, the man may be popular, but he’s definitely not that cool. He started his performance last night by grabbing the mic and pulling the stand down a good two feet to accommodate his tiny stature. He then proceeded to describe how he kowtowed to a man in a Spongebob suit at his daughter’s fifth birthday party, how much of a baller he’s not, and how he dropped his mother’s coffin at her funeral.
While comedians who opened for Hart talked about eating assholes and choking bitches, Hart recounted in detail how many sexual positions he is not comfortable with and assured the crowd that his average sexual performance lasts no more than 23 seconds. To illustrate, he went on to hump a stool for 23 seconds.
This fast-talking, wounded little
comedian may not be the first to invite people to laugh at his pain, but
he does do it well. The mostly-black crowd at
the Fillmore was young, happy and eager to laugh, a condition only
helped along by the tall-ass beers and cocktails the concession counters
doled out.
Four comedians performed before Kevin Hart took the stage.
The emcee talked about Miami’s big bitches, a phenomenon we Miamians
more commonly refer to as “drag queens,” and reminisced about the good
ol’ days of piss-colored Listerine.
The next guy staggered in toting a
keg-party style red plastic cup and started a drunken rant about how
little time he had to perform. “I only got four jokes for y’all,” he
slurred. “Show started late, so I’m gonna do these four jokes and get
out of here.” He made some poignant observations about men’s jean
choices on South Beach. “Every time you walk, you bust a nut because
your tight ass jeans be rubbing up against you. If you need to arch your
foot to get it into the pant leg of your jeans, you need to get a
bigger pair of jeans!” He talked about how fiendishly men protect their
cell phone privacy, and why. “We can’t just put in a name of a girl. We
gotta put in something like ‘Big Titty Keisha,’ so when the phone ring
your girl sees the caller ID and she’ll be like, ‘Who the fuck is ‘Big
Titty Keisha!?'” “He so right!” a woman in the audience exclaimed.
Up next, Na’im Lynn’s
greatest contribution to the show and perhaps to mankind is a plan by
which men performing oral sex on women can make sure that they never
accidentally lick an asshole again. “You stick
your finger in it and rest your chin on your hand,” he said, completely
deadpan, demonstrating the technique for the audience.
The
raunchiest opener of all, Corey Holcomb, was saved for last. Holcomb
seemed sloppy drunk when he stumbled onto the stage, but at least he
warned the audience of what to expect. “I’m only gonna talk about some
fucked up shit,” he said. And that he did.
He
talked about a pool party at Magic Johnson’s house. “He’s standing in
the pool with a big ass cut on his leg, and he’s like ‘Come in!’ I was
like, you’re gonna have to put some more chlorine in the pool.”
Then on to vaginal rejuvenation surgery and other fun female topics. “Getting’
your tubes tied is for girls who refuse to give up raw dick. They could
just ask guys to wear a condom, but they’re like ‘Fuck that.’ They
wanna get skeeted in.” He slowly looked around at the audience before continuing.
“I
see some of you girls getting upset at my jokes,” he said. “That’s
because my show is a reflection of your life. And you hate yourself.” Fellas, don’t worry. Holcomb had some wisdom for you too. “Never
let a year go by without choking your bitch,” he explained. “I don’t
care if it’s New Year’s Eve. ‘Four, three, two, one…'” he said, and
then seized the mic stand, miming a pretty convincing choking.
Holcomb
left and a black box on the stage opened to reveal two female dancers
in red one-piece bathing suits, tuxedo jackets and bow ties. Dry ice
clouds floated across the stage, and the dancers moved around awkwardly
for a few moments before the door of the box opened again, and out
walked little man Hart.
His comedy was a lot
more subdued than Holbrook’s babble about abortions and STDs. It was
also a lot more personal. He talked about how he had tried — and
failed — to hang with (read also: spend money like) the big dogs of
the NBA. He told a lot of stories about his coke-head father, like the
time daddy he came into Hart’s spelling bee competition, late, high as
hell and shouting inappropriate cheers. “My son’s spelling the shit out
of those motherfucking words! Awright awright awright!” Hart shouted in
imitation.
From start to end, the audience
laughed nearly non-stop. These guys knew what they were doing, and the
audience was on board for every joke. Hart earned his place as the
celebrated headliner by bringing a host of stories with substance, a
little bit of sadness, and a lot of hilarity.
The show ran pretty late
for a Sunday (supposedly it started at nearly 11 p.m., and audiences
weren’t standing up to leave until 1 a.m.), but the laughs were worth
sacrificing a few hours’ sleep over. For those who braved the after
party, Hart tweeted that he and his “plastic cup boyz” shut down King of
Diamonds strip club.
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