And I Exited The Stage To the Song, “Blue Moon”

Avatar, The Blue Man Group, The Veggie Tales’ Ms. Blueberry, the shape-changing lady from the X-Men comics, that alien chick on “Star Trek” that Captain Kirk made the moves on… wait a minute, I think maybe she was green. Whatever.

Except for possibly that last example, I have something in common with all of the above characters, people, and personalities. I’m blue. No, I’m not depressed… I’m just blue. I’m literally that hue of the crayon in the box that is located between the colors of green and black. I am literally BLUE.

Unbelievable. I’m on stage giving my all to try and make people laugh, and all the while (unbeknownst to me), I’m simultaneously doing an uncannily accurate imitation of the gum-chewing Violet from the movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

It’s amazing where the dye from a new shirt can find itself on your body. My entire upper-torso looks like it has participated in a street rumble against a gang of billiard players brandishing freshly chalked pool cues.

When I got back to the hotel room and started washing up for bed I noticed that my arms were darker than normal – and that I had very dark, almost black, splotches all over my chest, shoulders, and upper arms. They almost looked like new freckles, or age spots – except that they were a very, very dark… BLUE.

The words “skin cancer” raced through my head, and I began scratching at every dark spot I could find to no avail – but I noticed that my fingernails were also turning blue, so rather than going straight to bed to get what would be a very short night of sleep anyway, I headed to the shower to wash with an aggressiveness and fervor I usually reserve for all-you-can-eat pizza buffets.

The Holiday Inn will likely bill my credit card an exorbitant sum to recuperate the “damages” I’m leaving behind tomorrow morning… namely two stained-beyond-salvation washcloths, and a very light but very identifiable blue palm print on the wall of the shower where I leaned to reach the drain plug. My own personal little “Kilroy was here.”

Maybe the audience members tonight were just trying to be polite, but couldn’t someone after my show have at least mentioned that I reminded them of Papa Smurf? For crying out loud, I was finding blue in my ears! How is that even possible? No wonder I didn’t sell very many CDs after the show, I probably looked contagious.

It’s a good thing I got paid for the gig beforehand. Otherwise the client might’ve argued that they weren’t going to pay for “blue” humor.

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