The Joe Rogaine Experience
The Epic Short Story Volume 6.
Prologue
Countless performers dating back to the beginning of time provide endless entertainment in Heaven. You can watch Shakespeare in the afternoon and catch Richard Pryor’s standup in the evening. Just last week, I attended a play based on an arcade game about an Italian man raped by an ape named Donkey Dong. Very weird shit. Oddly, seeing a man abused by an ape caused curiosity to explore other entertainment, which led me to meet Joe Rogaine.
Chapter 1. Joe Rogaine
While EarthTubing different shows, I came across the Joe Rogaine Experience. The review described little about the show, but curiosity motivated a call to Stephen, and he agreed to attend the show at the Cosmic Comedy Club that night.
Arriving at the club that evening, we ordered drinks, and while waiting for our order, Stephen asked, “What’s this show about?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know; the reviews were vague, with comments like, ‘It will make the hair stand up on your head,’ or ‘You’ll laugh so hard your hair will fall out.’”
Stephen smiled. “That is strange.”
The lights dimmed, and spotlights flashed whirled about the stage as a voice rumbled over speakers, “The Cosmic Comedy Club proudly presents the Joe Rogaine Experience. Welcome, Joe Rogaine!”
Wearing only mixed martial arts boxing shorts, a man ran on stage, waving to the audience. “Hey everybody, how the fuck are you?”
Everyone clapped and cheered as Joe Rogaine jumped up and down. “I am so damn excited I could explode!”
With each bounce, different colored hair grew from every inch of his body then exploded like fireworks. I pointed to the stage. “Holy shit! Are you seeing this, Stephen?”
Stephen’s face brightened in shock. “That’s fucking insane!”
Joe's hair ceased growth as he walked across the stage. “I saw Lincoln the other day. Man, that motherfucker is ugly. He was trying to pick up Betsy Ross, but she wanted nothing to do with that monster.” Joe’s hair grew into a Lincoln beard and the shape of a top hat. “Fucking look, man. You’re in Heaven, and it's 2018 on Earth. Lose the fucking antique hat and Amish beard. Get yourself a cool goatee and some shades.” The beard fell off his face disappearing on the way to the floor as the top hat blew away like dust in the wind, and immediately, a goatee and a pair of sunglasses grew in place.”
The audience roared as he walked about the stage. “Yeah, some guys can pull off the beard and goatee look, but not me. I am just glad that women don’t wear beards and mustaches. About the only hair I want to see on a woman is a big, tasty bush. That’s right; I’m a big bush guy. Whatever happened to the 1970s Playboy bush?” As he spoke, hair grew from the front of his shorts. “You know what I am talking about? Remember those big bushes women had in the seventies? They looked like a forest growing between their legs. What the fuck happened to the big bush? I liked the big bush!” Pubic hair grew ever faster, filling the stage, creeping into the audience. People reeled as the bush crept closer, and the moment hair almost touched them, it exploded into nothingness. “And with no bush, instead of fucking a chick, I feel like I am getting sucked off by Telly Savalas. Who loves ya, baby?”
Stephen and I laughed as Joe continued his monologue and hair impersonations.
Chapter 2. The Garden of Weed & Feed
After the show, we moved to the comedy club's bar, joined a crowd mingling with Joe, and Stephen said, “That was some show.”
Joe shook Stephen’s hand. “Thanks. You should come back in two weeks. I’ll have some new routines to try on the crowd.”
As I offered to shake Joe’s hand, his eyes widened, and he pointed. “Holy shit! You’re the dude who fucked the Holy Mother on EarthTube!”
I shook Joe's hand and nodded. “Yes, I am. Most people think I lied since they removed the video.”
Joe shook his head. “That’s fucked up, man. Don’t listen to those clowns. Everyone here knows it happened because we watched on the club's big screen. That shit was amazing! Who would’ve thought her crazy like that? Too bad she didn’t have a big bush, right?”
Everyone laughed, and Stephen asked, “Joe, how do you make your hair grow like that?”
“Well, truthfully, I got the ability by accident on earth when I struggled to make money as a comic. I got this idea to do drug trials, and you’re not supposed to do multiple trials, but I needed rent money, so I did like twenty of them. One morning I woke up and could grow hair on demand, so I rewrote my act with the hair, but the interactions with all the drugs killed me before I could perform.” He smiled and shrugged. “Here I am.”
I said, “That’s crazy. It’s hard to believe you struggled as a comedian; you’re so funny.”
Joe rolled his eyes laughing, “Dude, you just don’t know. Comedians don’t make shit. I struggled for years trying to break into comedy. Sadly, you can be a funny comedian and still struggle for a long time. Comedians are the whores of the entertainment world.”
I shook my head. “Wow, I had no idea. I thought comedians made a lot of money.”
Stephen asked, “How do you come up with your bits?”
Joe smiled. “I spend a lot of time in the Garden of Weed & Feed.”
Stephen and I looked at each other confused, and I asked, “What the hell is that?”
Joe laughed, “This is going to be killer. Follow me.”
Joe led us to God’s palace, explaining as we walked, “Man, you guys are in for a fucking treat! God made the garden so he would have fresh vegetables, and you know how big God is, so he made anything planted in the garden grow huge! There are strawberries the size of cars and watermelons bigger than your house.”
Stephen said, “Yeah, but how does this help you with your comedy.”
Joe turned down a street. “It’s just up ahead. So, Satan, the gardener, got this idea to plant weed in the Garden. He calls it Devil’s Weed. Imagine buds the size of beach balls.” Joe stopped in front of a wooden door on a towering wall that stretched around several blocks and turned to us with a serious look. “We're here. Look, don’t ask Satan about his missing wings: all that fallen angel crap is still kind of a sore spot.”
I asked in confusion, “So, Satan is the gardener in the Garden of Weed and Feed, and he is an angel without wings?”
Joe’s face fell as he grumbled, “Yeah, back when the universe was new, Satan decided he wanted to live on earth, and this led to him and God arguing. To make a long story short, God took away Satan’s wings for like billions of years. Please don’t say anything because that motherfucker will just ramble on and on about how it's not fair the mortals paint him as a prick in the bible with all the religious nonsense. It’s a real buzzkill.”
I said, “Jesus Christ, how the fuck did all these stories get so twisted in the bible?”
Joe laughed, “I know. What’s funny is watching all those idiots on earth talking about how the bible is true. I love seeing the look on their faces when they get here.” Joe knocked on a wooden door, making me ask, “Is it okay to go in the Garden?”
Joe knocked again. “Yeah, it’s not off-limits, but most people don’t know about it.”
The door opened, and an angel with no wings stood in the jamb. “Come on in.” We followed slow-talking Satan through the Garden. “I just planted a new batch of Purple Heaven Kush. It’s my strain. It’ll give you a mellow high with some mild hallucinations. I also have some homemade beers and chilled vodka.”
The massive hedge maze bore all varieties of fruits that hung like boulders, and entering a cornfield, tree-like stalks rose along a path stretching into a meadow of towering pot plants. In a clearing's center, a six-foot hookah sat beside a fire surrounded by lawn chairs. Satan fell into a chair. “Have a seat while I fire this thing up.” Satan grabbed a burning log while placing a hookah hose in his mouth, then lit a massive bud in the top of the hookah chamber, and everyone smoked the Devil’s Weed.
Everything slowed, and Satan's face made a light trail, turning to me as his mouth stretched words, “Duuude, III gooot theee muuunchieees. Dooo youuu?”
Stephen ran past, taking cover from Joe behind a pot plant’s trunk. “Joe, fucking cut it out! That shit is nasty!”
Joe laughed, bending over and pointing his bare ass at Stephen, who peeked and ducked from behind the plant as Joe farted hairballs, causing me to stand with inspiration. “Joe, I have a great idea. Can you make your hair grow into words and shoot them out your ass?”
Joe stood and scratched his chin. “You know, I never tried that. Let’s see if I can do it.”
Joe grunted, and the word “Shit” shot from his ass, floating a moment before fading into nothing. We laughed as Joe shot curse words then stopped. “Okay, okay, if I’m going to use this in a routine, I need something else.”
Joe took out his iPhone and played the instrumental while shooting the song’s lyrics from his ass ♬Take out the papers and the trash!♬
Stephen streamed Joe’s comedic ass hair singing on EarthTube while Satan and I rolled about laughing on the ground.
Chapter 3. The Mind of Propecia
A few days after partying in the garden, Stephen and I returned to the Cosmic Comedy Club to see another promising act called the Mind of Propecia. We arrived and took seats in the audience as the lights dimmed and the stage lit to the booming voice, “The Cosmic Comedy Club proudly presents, the Mind of Propecia. Welcome, Carlos Propecia!”
Wearing only a pair of shorts with a flap in the rear that opened to expose his ass, a guy ran on stage and bounced. “Hey everyone, how the hell are you?”
The crowd roared as Carlos screamed, “I am so damn excited I could explode!”
As Carlos jumped up and down, different colored hair grew from every inch of his body and exploded like fireworks, causing me to nudge Stephen. “What the fuck is going on?”
We watched in shock as Carlos performed his all too familiar monologue. “I saw Karl Marx the other day. Man, that motherfucker is ugly. He tried to pick up Queen Elizabeth, but she wanted nothing to do with that fucker.” While speaking, a thick beard grew. “Fucking look, man. You’re in Heaven, and it’s 2018 on Earth; lose the fucking 1800s beard. Get yourself a cool handlebar mustache.” The beard fell from his face, disappearing on the way to the floor, and a handlebar mustache grew as the unwitting crowd applauded.
Carlos walked about the stage. “Yeah, some guys can pull off the beard look, but not me. I’m just glad women don’t sport beards and mustaches because the only hair I want to see on a woman is a big bush. That’s right; I like my girls with big bushes. Whatever happed to the 1980s Penthouse bush?” Hair began growing from the front of his shorts. “You know what I am talking about. Remember those big bushes women had in the 80s? They looked like a forest growing between their legs. What the fuck happened to the big bush? I want the fucking big bush!” The bush grew larger and larger into the audience, and right when the hair neared touching the audience, it exploded into nothingness. “And with no bush, instead of woman, I feel like I am getting sucked off by Patrick Steward. Make it so, number one!”
The crowd roared as we watched in horror as Carlos bent over, unbuttoned the back of his shorts, and began belting hairy lyrics out of his ass while music blared in the club. ♬Goodness gracious; great balls of fire♬
As we left the club, I turned to Stephen. “That was so fucked up. He just stole Joe’s act.”
Stephen scowled. “I know; we have to go see Joe, now.”
Though late in the evening, we found Joe in his backyard practicing mixed martial arts and walking across the lawn, Stephen called, “Hey Joe, hate to interrupt your workout, but we need to tell you something.”
Joe stopped kicking a heavy bag hanging from a tree and walked over to us, “What’s up, guys?”
Stephen and I related Carlos Propecia’s theft of Joe’s bits, even the singing routine. Joe glared and began walking toward the club. “Let’s go.”
We followed Joe back to the club where Carlos mingled with fans as Joe entered the bar and yelled, “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, motherfucker? I heard you stole my jokes?”
Carlos laughed, “Your jokes? I think you need to check yourself, man. These are my jokes.”
Joe yelled, “Well, how do you explain the fact that my friends recorded me practicing the singing bit three nights ago?”
Carlos smiled nervously. “I wasn’t stealing nothing: a coincidence. That’s all.”
“No, asshole, it’s not!” Joe screamed, and the comics squared off, ready to fight, but the sky suddenly opened, and the voice of God boomed from on high, “You have failed, Carlos. When you asked to control hair growth, you swore you wanted to bring light to the serious problem of male pattern baldness, but instead, you used your gift to steal jokes. I condemn you to Washup World, where the only gigs you get are opening spots, corporate gatherings, and birthday parties for rich high schoolers who heckle you.” Carlos cried as he vanished, and God's voice boomed again, “Now all of you go home. I am bored sick of hearing you assholes sing.”
“Ba-dum-bump!” The sky thundered and closed.
Epilogue
God teaches the important lesson that male pattern baldness is no laughing matter.
The End