nick nickolas
01-28-03, 03:36 AM
The Loaded Hog ....Day One
My life has been different than a lot of the others this busking festival,
I have been given the job of hosting ‘Late Night with the Buskers’...
This is an event that takes place at The Loaded Hog, a venue that seems to attract the evening meat market crowd, 300+ twenty somethings after one thing...to get completely shitfaced on a vast array of cocktails, spirits, strobe lights and boom boom music. With the sole intention of finally landing a partner ( or partners ) in which to share sweaty inebriated sexual encounters with in the wee hours of the morning.
Please don’t get me wrong I have no adversity to this sport of the under 25’s ( I was there once too )..
But is does make things difficult when you are trying to execute cleverly designed bouts of comedic absurdity.
The line up the first 4 days..Thurs- Sunday... was Peter Mielniczek
( formally one half of Hoopal), Peiter Post, Max Moolenaar of Holland and myself.
The first night we were asked to create and perform a 2 hour show with an intermission for the pheretestosterone animals ....
We wanted to do something different than the carefully, constructed displays of skill that are witnessed every day out on the streets.
So an array of sketches were concocted, featuring Peter Mielniczek spinning plates on poles and then running out of the venue and down Manchester St to the massage parlour for a $^&^^** to return before the china smashed, and later later doing surrealistic impersonations of great artists using a black cloth and a wooden frame.
The dutch appeared a few times, the first an appearing rabbits from hats routine which consisted of a 4 min set up for a 2 sec gag, I would return on to the stage to dismantle what looked like a giant limbo consistenting of 2 mike stands at maxi height a couple of broom handles tied together in gaffer, fishing line, stools, hats and rabbits.
Doing that and trying to silence the uninterested mob with 2 liner base level jokes and heckler stoppers wasn’t an easy task, to bring them back on for a sketch which included an array of wigs, glasses, hats, jackets, beards birthdays and bewilderment was and act of defiance in ourselves. In front of us the 100 seated people stared and the 300 or so others grunted, gurgled and carried on their quest for flesh.
Max returned with a spoof magician act who I introduced as my mentor Hans Zimmerframe from Dresden, he held ‘em, they laughed but the grey background noise of the grunting hogs was never silenced.
They had a look when Peter and Max returned with a mathematical equasive puzzle for them to solve while looking at pornographic pictures.
Early on Meinielchk gave them the chant Hoggy Hoggy Hoggy....Oink Oink Oink which engaged the vocal cords of the thriving mass...
It became the catch phrase weapon, which I used to gain attention before putting on Pieter Post, he got them, managed to create bouts of silence and absorption as he went through the paces of Mr Jones, brilliant fuck ups lined with brief demonstrations of skill finally managing to crack a Havana cigar out of a pink pig with a bull whip.
I brought everyone on for the curtain call finale....
The Flying Hog.
A four men rendition of Mr Jones’ solo finale where the mammal in question is placed on a teeter board and projected through the air in to a ‘royal throne’ on a pole held by Mr Jones standing atop a table full of glasses filled with beer, drool and lipstick.
The hounds barked and howled and glasses were raised ( it’s hard to clap with a beer in your hand )....
The battle has been won..
Shaken but not stirred we climbed the two sets of stairs to our dressing room, a empty office floor of 3 rooms with partitions, toilets and...silence. Denny, the stage manager came up and emptied the buckets of well earnt cash, collected by herself and Rewi ( a door sized maori ) at the door, on the table.
It didn’t take long to divide up the swag,
Sweaty shirts and jackets were hung up to rest,
The four battle scared vaudevillians headed back down into the jungle.
Strobing, flashing, drum and base had turned our audience into an epileptic herd of wilder beast .
Weaving through the pack, finally getting to the watering hole we sample a couple of the house ales, very good I must say, this is a brewery pub and we have a tab.
I headed home and put myself out at about 5am.
My life has been different than a lot of the others this busking festival,
I have been given the job of hosting ‘Late Night with the Buskers’...
This is an event that takes place at The Loaded Hog, a venue that seems to attract the evening meat market crowd, 300+ twenty somethings after one thing...to get completely shitfaced on a vast array of cocktails, spirits, strobe lights and boom boom music. With the sole intention of finally landing a partner ( or partners ) in which to share sweaty inebriated sexual encounters with in the wee hours of the morning.
Please don’t get me wrong I have no adversity to this sport of the under 25’s ( I was there once too )..
But is does make things difficult when you are trying to execute cleverly designed bouts of comedic absurdity.
The line up the first 4 days..Thurs- Sunday... was Peter Mielniczek
( formally one half of Hoopal), Peiter Post, Max Moolenaar of Holland and myself.
The first night we were asked to create and perform a 2 hour show with an intermission for the pheretestosterone animals ....
We wanted to do something different than the carefully, constructed displays of skill that are witnessed every day out on the streets.
So an array of sketches were concocted, featuring Peter Mielniczek spinning plates on poles and then running out of the venue and down Manchester St to the massage parlour for a $^&^^** to return before the china smashed, and later later doing surrealistic impersonations of great artists using a black cloth and a wooden frame.
The dutch appeared a few times, the first an appearing rabbits from hats routine which consisted of a 4 min set up for a 2 sec gag, I would return on to the stage to dismantle what looked like a giant limbo consistenting of 2 mike stands at maxi height a couple of broom handles tied together in gaffer, fishing line, stools, hats and rabbits.
Doing that and trying to silence the uninterested mob with 2 liner base level jokes and heckler stoppers wasn’t an easy task, to bring them back on for a sketch which included an array of wigs, glasses, hats, jackets, beards birthdays and bewilderment was and act of defiance in ourselves. In front of us the 100 seated people stared and the 300 or so others grunted, gurgled and carried on their quest for flesh.
Max returned with a spoof magician act who I introduced as my mentor Hans Zimmerframe from Dresden, he held ‘em, they laughed but the grey background noise of the grunting hogs was never silenced.
They had a look when Peter and Max returned with a mathematical equasive puzzle for them to solve while looking at pornographic pictures.
Early on Meinielchk gave them the chant Hoggy Hoggy Hoggy....Oink Oink Oink which engaged the vocal cords of the thriving mass...
It became the catch phrase weapon, which I used to gain attention before putting on Pieter Post, he got them, managed to create bouts of silence and absorption as he went through the paces of Mr Jones, brilliant fuck ups lined with brief demonstrations of skill finally managing to crack a Havana cigar out of a pink pig with a bull whip.
I brought everyone on for the curtain call finale....
The Flying Hog.
A four men rendition of Mr Jones’ solo finale where the mammal in question is placed on a teeter board and projected through the air in to a ‘royal throne’ on a pole held by Mr Jones standing atop a table full of glasses filled with beer, drool and lipstick.
The hounds barked and howled and glasses were raised ( it’s hard to clap with a beer in your hand )....
The battle has been won..
Shaken but not stirred we climbed the two sets of stairs to our dressing room, a empty office floor of 3 rooms with partitions, toilets and...silence. Denny, the stage manager came up and emptied the buckets of well earnt cash, collected by herself and Rewi ( a door sized maori ) at the door, on the table.
It didn’t take long to divide up the swag,
Sweaty shirts and jackets were hung up to rest,
The four battle scared vaudevillians headed back down into the jungle.
Strobing, flashing, drum and base had turned our audience into an epileptic herd of wilder beast .
Weaving through the pack, finally getting to the watering hole we sample a couple of the house ales, very good I must say, this is a brewery pub and we have a tab.
I headed home and put myself out at about 5am.