[Video of Corbin on stage at the Laughing Jackal, doing a stand up routine. He’s got the same stage presence as he normally does, but he seems a more twitchy than usual, unable to stay still as he paces back and forth. A bubble of laughter from the crowd has just settled down; he leans against the mic stand a little.
“It makes you think, right? Like, the only people who actually make it in this City are just bastards. Like, real motherfuckers, you know? They turn screwing people over into an art form, like they’re aiming to nudge their way into those pretentious art galleries. Move over Mona Lisa, here’s Mona Lisa II. She’s exactly the same only she’s flipping you off and somehow making someone rich and famous in the process.”
Corbin’s tone has gone bitter, but it doesn’t stop the audience from laughing. That’s the nice thing about the Jackal - it’s hard to bomb when everyone’s drinks are spiked with laughter.
“It makes you wonder, like, what’s even the point? You spend your whole life trying to compete at screwing people over against people who’ve been pro their whole lives. Came out with a stamp on their little baby butts declaring them purebred jackass. They’re pedigreed. You can’t compete against that.
“So then the one time you think like, hey, maybe I’ll try changing the rules, do something decent for a change, you get disqualified. Some sorta cosmic ref is just standing there on the sidelines, ready to pull you out of the game. Can’t go helping people. Not allowed. We’re pulling you out.”
Corbin takes a moment to adjust his mic. The crowd’s still chuckling, but the smile’s off of his face.
“I guess it’s not all bad, though. Like the game’s obviously shitty, so it’s not all bad being pulled out. Sorta like being hit with a dodgeball when you’re in elementary school and that’s the only game the coaches ever want you to play. Like yeah, you let your team down, and that motherfucker with eight arms on the other side has one hell of a hook so your shoulder’s gonna smart for a while, but at least you don’t have to worry about dodging anymore.You can just sit on the side and pick your boogers or whatever your priorities are when you’re like, seven.
“Honestly? It’s kind of a relief.”
There’s a moment’s pause, and Corbin’s stage presence is all but gone. It’s just him, standing in the middle of the stage, staring out over the audience. He’s not smiling; he looks tired. He looks like he’s thinking.
Then, just like that, a grin crosses his face again and he makes a confident step forward. “But really, what is the deal with gym coaches anyway-”]