The Comedy Store

A good hump day to you all: I’m proud to announce that on Friday the 13th of November, Karaoke Killed the Cat is bringing Bootyoke to Los Angeles for the very first time. We’ve teamed up with Shred Savage and the happy family at The Comedy Store to bless you with the bountiful harvest of the short shorts.

Here’s the deal Hollywood, I know we’re only on our second date but we’re trying to slide into home base this time around. Karaoke Killed the Cat takes your average bear karaoke night and turns it up to crowd surfing levels of dance partyness. This isn’t the show that will make you famous, we couldn’t give a shit if you’re a good singer or not, as long as your bring some snap and a little bit of booty shake we’ll get along just fine. We sing, we dance and we sweat, can you dig it?

If you’re still with me, here’s the rub. Every so often, the unicorn called Bootyoke appears and we strip down to the shortest short shorts we can find and come together for a glorious night of sing song. You’d be surprised how nuts things can get it you get a room full of people together who just don’t give a fuck. It’ll be a night to remember, hope you can join us. I know many of you on this list are not in LA, but if you have love for Karaoke Killed the Cat pass this sweet ass flier onto your homies on the west side, or better yet cash in those miles and let the sun shine in! Less talk, more rock. Here’s the deets.

Karaoke Killed the Cat presents: The Los Angeles premiere of Bootyoke Friday, Nov. 13th @ The Comedy Store 8433 Sunset Blvd, LA, CA 90069 10pm $10 or $5 if you wear short shorts

An account of Hauntings and goings on by a former Comedy Store Waitress Laurie Jacobson

The Sunset Strip has long been known as the playground of the stars.  The brightest stars, the biggest moguls and most Oscar-winning artists dined, danced and romanced in clubs along the Strip.  The most popular rendezvous, Ciro’s (right), opened in 1940.  Today, it is called the Comedy Store, world-famous laugh club; but late at night, the ghosts of Ciro’s rule the roost.

I was a cocktail waitress at “The Store” for one extraordinary year of my life during 1981 and 1982.  After the laughter died out and the last glass was washed, another kind of show began.  At that hour, the club was in the hands of Blake Clark, a charming, funnyman who doubled as security.

One night on his way out the back door, he heard banging on the piano in the Belly Room, a small venue on the second floor.  Some of the waitresses had already reported odd occurrences in there — pranks, really.  One of the young women would open the room, light candles, arrange tables and leave.  Five minutes later, she’d return to find the candles out, the lights off, the door locked.  When she returned with the key, she’d find the door open and the room set up again.  Clark rushed upstairs when he heard the piano, thinking someone was locked in.  As soon as he unlocked the door, the noise stopped.  He flipped on the light.  No one was in the room.  He checked all corners, then locked up.  As he turned to leave, he heard it again — someone deliberately banging the keys of the piano.  Clark heard the piano on numerous other occasions.  There was never anyone to be seen in the room — just a playful spirit with a tin ear having a laugh.

Another night, Blake made the final rounds in the large showroom which had been Ciro’s main room.  He moved to lock up, but stopped in his tracks.  A chair on one end of the stage began to slide across to the other side.  He stood frozen, watching as the chair glided effortlessly three feet, ten feet, twenty.  In a flash, he found his feet and got out of there.  Still another night, he went to the rear of the empty stage to turn off a light.  Seconds later, he turned around to find 40 chairs silently piled center stage, ten feet away.

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