Top ten comedians to eat when you are broke and hungry

September 20, 10:54 PMLA Comedy ExaminerAndrea Kittelson

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David Cross

Because I’m a teacher who doesn’t get paid over the summer, and because it is now fall, I’m famished.

Until I sell a screenplay for that almost-elusive-but-not-quite-so-I-continue-to-delude-myself, low six-figure sum, it is ever on my mind (and esophagus) just how doggone hungry I am.

And it’s not an “Oh, I would really love a salad right now topped with blackened salmon accompanied by a glass of Piper-Heidsieck Cuvee Brut” hungry, or “A Wurstkuche rattlesnake bratwurst with garlic fries and a Belgian ale would surely taste delicious today” hankering, it’s an almost metaphysical starving that can only be satiated by comedy.

I’m not talking the ten-dollar drink-minimum kind that requires you to leave the house and spend money on gas, but the type that lures you into full-on, sacrificial hedonism mode.

In fact, mine is the brand of survivalist insatiability that necessitates the thinning of a particular herd.

Mine is the genre of hunger that compels me to eat comedians.

Sure, I could be nice and say that I would only dine on comics that are “delicious,” but, frankly, I am so low blood-sugared and cranky right now that I would rather chow down on those that are expendable.

Tenth on the list of comics to eat when you’re broke and hungry is Jay Leno. Yes, he’s a nice guy and obviously hard-working and absolutely friendly and down-to-Earth and kind. But, he’s also, quite honestly, a smidge disappointing. His new show really is an old show that doesn’t live up to its commercials. (Perhaps he could just loop the commercials?)

I want to see Jay kicking it in the writer’s room, yukking it up with his brainy staff – the folks who are typically kept behind the screen. I want him (along with them) to juggle jackals, play poker, maybe sing a rock ditty and dance. I want anything at all that’s innovative, on the fringe and overtly and unabashedly new. Perhaps Jay could shoot circus clowns from a cannon or play guitar with Slash or go kayaking in the Los Angeles River – oh, wait, Conan O’Brien already did that. Whoops!

In summation, I would wholeheartedly welcome a free-wheeling format for Jay Leno that is surprising and n'er-before-seen and not merely the same-old, old and stale, same-old. I want to be wowed and not lulled.

And, let’s state the obvious, shall we? Jay has too many cars. Couldn’t he collect something smaller and less gassy like cats or recyclable bottles?

So, I’d eat him.

Yep.

And then I’d lick my lips.

But, as an aside, and to make things quite clear, I would ride in his Viper if he asked, and I’d take a Stanley Steamer or Bearcat or Bugatti off his hands if remanded, and in a minute, but my own hypocrisy is not the current point!

Call me crazy. Call me mean. Call me anything in between. But, after I dine on Leno, I’d dine on his money clip, which would be jam-packed full of his old-school-hemp-based-money. And then I wouldn’t need to sell my quasi-finished script. I could just buy a JVC GY-HD 25OU and film it myself. My movie might likely stink like last week’s leftover semi-chicken Ramen, but at least it would be mine, and it would be made.

Ninth on the tally of loud-mouths to gullet when you’re starving and don’t mind the grade of meat in your belly would be Tom Arnold. I’m sure that at least three of his four wives (and Michael Strahan) would agree that chomping on his tongue (and, according to one wife, his swinging arm) would be respite and relief. And his manager would no doubt be pleased that he has a job that pays more than talk-show minimum – if not in dollars then in digestive enzymes, which could surely yield something at a swap meet. And do you know why else I'd eat him? Because he even thinks he's lame. 

Eighth on a jot-down of jokesters to juice would be Dom Irrera. Indeed, he’s growing bald and is therefore a certain version of cute, but his anecdotes are race-focused and crass, which makes him hard for me to watch but easy for me to swallow. Ironic, isn’t it? Another reason I’d eat him with a side of not-so-kosher pickles, is his liver. His might be cirrhotic, but it’s surely better than mine, which is quite possibly Smithsonian ready.

Seventh on the delicacy scroll (do I dare spill it?) is the formidable David Letterman. Please don't yell. I totally love Dave. I really, really do. I think he’s both brilliant and crotchety, which, to this slightly-but-not-overly-dysfunctional wench, is wildly, moronically sexy. And he’s got balls. Take notice of the way he grilled John McCain, Rod Blagojevich and others. Truth be told, I would mostly stuff my face with Dave to absorb some of his Moxie and also to make way for a new comedian with similar style and far-reaching future potential (and a little something extra). Someone like Erin Foley who has both balls and a uterus.

Sixth on the list of quipsters to devour would be Chelsea Handler. Why a thirty-something blond who is taller, thinner, younger, richer and funnier than me and who has her own popular TV show and who lives around the corner from the place that waxes my personal parts and threads my face? Because she’s competition (I know; I wish, right?) and I’m feeling bitchy. I’d eat her, and then I’d lizard-lick her sidekick Chewy because he’s probably, as the name might belie, saucy and tender.

Fifth in this cast of cut-ups to munch would be Joel McHale. He’s got red hair and he’s mean. I have nothing against red hair, per se (I would comingle with Conan O’Brien in the beat of an artichoke heart) but coupled with mean it is downright irksome. I have spent so much of my own time cultivating a nice gal approach to things that I find Joel McHale’s catty, high-school-cheerleader ways, as witnessed on "The Soup", to be on the brink of prayer-worthy. (I am praying for you now, my son!) Yes, you can conclude from this column that I too am mean. But I can't eat myself!

Fourth in this gaggle of gabbers to gulp would be David Cross. For info on why, see Joel McHale.

And please forgive all this anorexia-induced alliteration. It is a sickness (along with visions and choking and the puns) that I am trying like a wily case of candida to cure.

The third clown on the rung to wash down would have to be Rodney Dangerfield. OK, he’s deceased (which certainly renders the kitchen prep easy) but he’s also kind of an arse who deserves to be masticated. He once cut in front of me at the dry cleaners on Franklin and Bronson, which thoroughly inconvenienced me. I think it was him. I’m pretty sure. If not, then I retract and regurgitate. But just so you know, I’d be coughing up freshly cleaned plaid with porn in its pockets.

Thankfully, Dangerfield paved the way for Jay London who is alive and kicking and who is ever enjoyable and one-liner-hilarious and who, when older, will no doubt be equally as savory and will contain far fewer calories. Maybe even be in The Zone. That is, if hair counts as protein.

Number Two comedian to subsume would be Kim Barker who wrote All About Steve. I would have to chase her with a Sandra Bullock flan (she produced and starred in this ridiculous reel). I would eat all that while shouting up at the Heavens (mouth full of egg) “What in holy ham hock were you thinking?!” Perhaps it was a perimenopausal imbalance that overtook Bullock’s brain or simply the desire to squeeze in one more romantic-ish comedy before transitioning from cute and mostly loveable ingénue to older and hopefully more subtle character actress. Nonetheless she’d make a tasty denouement. Unlike the movie.

Number One on my blog of comedians to swallow whole, like a postpartum hamster mommy, would have to be Glenn Beck. He’s more Fox-host than comedian these days, and he’s certainly not hilarious, but he is an entertainer (if you call fear-mongering entertainment) and his ideas are arguably absurd (absurdity is, "sources say", akin to comedy) that I would eat him twice. And I would eat him with forkfuls of fetid cabbage. And a barrel of lutefisk in extra lye.

These are just a few of the comics I would ingest if in a fit of ravenous rage.

Who would you eat if you were so incomprehensibly famished?

For more comedic culinary ideas, check out “If comedians were sandwiches.”

Then, to see for yourself if the aforementioned comedians are silverware-worthy, check out the venues on the right where they (and others) will be performing (while attempting to evade the quick grasp of my sous chef’s tongs) throughout the coming week.