Let's be a Lesbian Stand-up Act Circa 1987!

I'm the mullet and "leshbian acshent" but I talk about men. Am I right? Am I right?

I am the baggy shiny nylon shirt with the vertical stripes and the breast pocket.

I'm the spiky mullet hair-do set off with one very long and beaded rat tail braid.

I'm the shoulder pads in her neon plaid blazer.

I'm Chuck Taylor, and in a million years I'd never guess I'd be the go-to footwear of lesbian comics for several decades.

I'm the girlfriend, taking tickets at the door and handing out fliers for the combination ACT-UP/Vegan Support Group. If she so much as looks at that babydyke in the front row there will be hell to pay.

I'm the applique vest bought at a women's fest.

Suspenders! Suspenders! Suspenders!

I'm the mullet sporting the air-dried curly perm with the ears cut out to give me the look of those pointy, butch Doctor Spock sideburns. Bitchin, babe !

"Man, it's is so hard to find a guy in the 80s!"

I'm the decorative gold medal on the breast of the shoulder-padded neon blazer mentioned a couple of replies back. You can't see me close, of course, because if you did you'd see it says "#1 Cunning Linguist."

R6 was not alive in 1987.

Lesbian comics were not ACT UP activists in the 80s. They were painfully closeted and/or asexual.

ACT UP activists, god love 'em and and thank god for them, were not in the mainstream. They were like occupy Wall St, but with a terrifying infectious disease and an unavoidable stigma of homosexuality. The (straight, mainstream) public at large was not very fond of them.

Look at the early standup of Rosie ODonell and Ellen De Generes. I'm pretty sure both did recurring routines about the pitfalls of dating...men.

I'm the tambourine!

I am woman, hear me roar. Now, if only I could get up the nerve to shout it out loud, just like the way scream it when I'm all alone in my closet.

I'm the vest!

I'm the painful act:

"Man, dating guys in L.A. can be hell! Am I right ladies?!

I'm the high top, lace up combat boot and sneakers.

I'm the man with small dick jokes.

Why do I feel like I am the blunt of this joke...I mean thread?

I'm the segment of anguish = overeating jokes

I'm the segment on "butches are from Mars, femmes are from Venus."

I'm a sassy vibrator joke!

Am I right, ladies? Am I right?

I'm the hair gel used to produce the scrunchy curls up front -- and to tame the rattail in the back.

Am I right, ladies? Am I right?

I'm the polka dot scarf tied into a floppy bow above the poodle permed bangs.

And the flyers being passed round demanding the audience support the Nicaraguan Liberation Army.

I'm the gag about being called a fat bitch and the gasps of empathy from the crowd

I'm the blow dried bangs on that permed " Mall Hairdo"

I am the necktie hanging loosely around her neck.

I am the sperm, ova, and infants she will someday adopt.

I am the booze she continually imbibes.

I'm angry that sanitary protection is taxed as if tampons are luxury goods or OPTIONAL.

It's freakin' ridiculous huh ladies? Am I right?

Menopause! What a pain! Who needs it?

How come you never wear pretty dresses and shoes anymore? Why do you always have to dress like a boy ?

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And then there are HOT FLASHES! Right, ladies? Right?

I'm the row of hoop earrings followed by the cross and the diamond stud.

I am the "Nobody talks about these things, we need to talk about them! Am I right ladies, am I right?"

I am her late 80s assymmetrical haircut. I make her look like a stout mushroom or a violently frayed cotton swab, depending on her build.

"So I was a bridesmaid, and I had to wear the ugliest dress, I swear, the bride put me in this puce dress to make hersel look good. I wish I could have worn a pantsuit, am I right?"

I am her "And don't get me started on..." moment.

Don't get me started; don't EVEN get me started.

I;m her mom, whom she has been begging to come see her performance, unfortunately, mom invites members of her bridge club who are trying to be polite, but are aghast. It was butch nite at the club!!!

Tom Cruise!!!

I'm Phranck!

I'm her boundaries, stated again and again.

The one you are all referencing

I'm Paula Poundstone, pacing in the wings while I wait for this broad to wrap it up so I can do my 50-minute headliner set and head back to the Quality Inn.

As always, I'm so, so confused.

I'm the group of gay men who came to see the 'Act", and their "is she or isn't she" discussion at the bar, following the show

I'm her softball team, continually having to find someone to fill in as a shortstop while she pursues this comedy thing.

I'm the male superstar you all think I have a crush on because I use him in my act as a supposed romantic obsession.

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Ladies, men can be lazy. Am I right? But my boyfriend, I have to say, he can do the work of two men. Two, ladies! Unfortunately those two men are Laurel and Hardy.

I'm David Crosby, drinking heavily at the bar of The Comedy Store and begging my long-suffering wife to ask the lesbian stand-up if she'll join us in a threesome.

Don't get me started...don't even get me started....

So I went to my doctor and said hey! Doc! Is there any way a fat, middle aged gal like me can get herself back in shape?

And Doc says, sure, just do something twice a day that gets you slightly out of breath. So I started smoking again! Well we've all been tempted, am I right ladies? Am I right?

I'm the self-deprecating humor and "aww shucks" grin that hides what an angry drunk I really am.

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I'm the bolo tie worn loosely over an oversized men's buttondown!

Don't get me started. You do NOT want to get me started.

I'm the brass ring - my own daytime talk show. Because I'll be THE ONLY lesbian in herstory loved that much by stay-at-home fraus. The only one. No other lesbian will ever achieve that.

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I'm Dusty, Billie Jean, Martina, Rita Mae, and their groupies, all coming to see me and a few others as we each do a ten-minute set to benefit breast cancer research. They see me as up-and-coming lesbian chic, and as soon as I make it big, I'll dump their lipstick-lesbian loving fat asses for some really femme career-climbing actresses with tight skirts and Ferragamo heels.

OK I was too many things at the same time. I should have been usty et al and talked about coming to see an up and coming act who will eventually dump us for the Ferragamo whore.

I'm Anne Heche, not sure what to make of all this.

I'm Queen Latifah, with a Cameo fade, backstage, looking for a "personal trainer"

I'm the bright red statement lips and I love penis.

I'm an out-of-fashion man's necktie on a woman! I'm ironic, "kooky" and generally hideous, just like the closeted dyke wearing me!

I'm the scrunchie leather ankle boots worn by the act's femme crush, teamed with an off the shoulder striped t shirt dress and a neckscarf shot through with gold lame glitter thread.

I'm the club's manager, wondering why no one is ordering the pitchers of Coors Draft.

I am the female camera operator for VH1's "Standup Spotlight", and I will angrily correct you if you call me a "cameraman".

I'm the Nancy Reagan joke that still works after 7 years.

I am the adopted kid who got a finger up the butt.

I'm the Fuzzy Navel shot that gets sent up to the stage by some raucous women in back who are having the time of their lives.

I'm Lea DeLaria - fuck all of you cunts!

[quote]The (straight, mainstream) public at large was not very fond of ACT-UP.

Speak for yourself! I thought they were awesome.

He came in here with that damn Zucchini.

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I'm caneface and I am everywhere.

I'm the joke about my husband not being able to please my vaj flying over the head of the het couple, who years later when I come out will finally get it.

I'm the "wooooooos" that come from the rowdier, athletic looking women in the back.

I'm the female "roommate" who is mentioned in passing.

"And he said, 'I hope you're not wearing those jeans to dinner!' And I said, 'You're taking me to the Sizzler, not the Carrington mansion!'"

Pause, beat.

"Anyone want a slightly used boyfriend? Seriously, ladies..."

I'm the haircut, yes THAT pre-mullet feathered back haircut that the comic dyke hasn't changed in 10 years and makes her look like one of the boyfriends in "The Facts Of Life" or "One Day At A Time". Some people - Rachel Maddow for instance - wear it to this day.

I'm teasing the audience with: "I'm a big L-L-L... Lawrence Welk fan!!"

I'm Danny Thomas. Why did Rue McClanahan bring me to this place?

I'm the part of the act where after bemoaning the perils of modern relationships she says "...you know sometimes I think it would be easier if I just dated a woman!" which gets laughter. And she her face for one microsecond returns to its usual violent scowl.

I'm her lack of knowledge that the audience was able to hear her shouting backstage before the act began.