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Best Place to Stand up and Parody in the Name of Amour New York 2001 - Luna Lounge

On a Monday night at LUNA LOUNGE, Perdita Woo met her intended. In the back room she sat alone, an ecclesiastical gal, the improbable reader of McSweeney's. It was absurd, really. Perdita of the halfhearted finger snaps—you go, girl! (snap, pause, snap)—at "Eating It," the weekly briny, brainy sanctum for live experimental comedy. A salon vision with saloon execution, to be sure. Perdita grew flushed and dewy. Who among this esteemed buffet of writers, satirists, sketch players, and stand-up comedians would besmirch her virtue? Then the imperial Darius Finkelstein, slight of stature and prone to wearing shower caps (the most baffling of bonnets, certainly), thundered, "Let it be me." Gluttonous with a woman's want, Perdita agreed. Darius was a revelation. Finkelstein was funny. Perdita returned to her seat, postcoitally blessed, and made eyes at the cad cadre from The Onion. This is a fairy tale for the ages.
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