Mic 16-18 Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy

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There is a lot to listen to in comedy. I do have a fragile side — more polished, less crass, more polite than what sometimes ends up on stage. I was delighted to co-host with Jimmy in the big room at One Star. I am still not locked and loaded enough to barrel through people and circumstances, so I let them play out and circle back. It is a lot like how I raised the children. There really were direct consequences, but there wasn't a lot of yelling, and there were very few comeuppances, especially on the spot.

I am kind. Too kind. I am a kind bully—pushing you in the direction I need you to go while making you want to go there. Condemning your poor choices with a sociopathic passive-aggressive dismissal while simultaneously roasting you in a loving and hopefully hilarious way. It is diabolical. Mostly because I am not even sure I do it.

I loved that Jimmy pulled me up to co-host. I didn't love that he had the entire bar applaud my great tits. I'm not sure how we got there. It was banter about being a girl, for sure. But it happened. Round of applause.

Here we were, at the pass, surrounded on both sides by comedians. It was an unintentional ambush. If I failed as co-host or got salty about remarks, I would be taken out. So I kept my head down and followed Jimmy's lead until the show was over.

I went back the following week. Jimmy wasn't there. Bill was co-hosting with OK Pants—his podcast partner on Cleveland America. After I was welcomed to the mic, I read a letter. I suggested the note was a thank-you card written by Jimmy to me. Here it is:

Dear Missy Hayes,

I wanted to thank you for co-hosting with me last week.

I didn't realize how emotionally attached I was to Bill. Before you joined me on stage, I felt like Punch without his monkey.

I really hope having the whole room applaud your tits and calling you Vanna White all night didn't come off as demeaning or misogynistic.

I have great respect for broads who capitalize on their physical attributes.

As you saw, co-hosting is not easy—there's numbers, names, reading out loud…

But you did great, and I welcome you back anytime.

Love, Jimmy

Wasn't that sweet?

Speaking of playing to your strengths, I would like to talk for a minute about breasts, and I used the rest of my three minutes to talk about breasts and the respect they deserve.

Breasts, not tits. I know we're in the back room of a bar. It's mostly a boys' club—but we're not on a farm, and it's not the 1940s. As the owner of a pair, I prefer the word breasts. It's respectful. It's classy.

Breasts go to brunch.

Tits show up unannounced, pick a fight in the parking lot, and eat all your fries.

Breasts are inherently complicated. They come with their own engineered support system.

At One Star, I was a runner-up again, this guy who won did a set about Skyrizi and what if it wa s girls name. It was brilliant.
I took the note to 5 O'Clock because this is a clique, a club, a tribe. I knew it would get back to Jimmy and everyone who was in the big room that night.

5 O'Clock is a five-minute set, so I added to the breast schooling a hypothesis about what the world would be like if men woke up tomorrow with an erection that would never go down.

A penis would no longer be like a contractor—showing up when it feels like it. Nope. Up and at it all day long.

Everything changes.

No one is taking their kid to see Santa.

The letter still got a great response, but the 24-hour erection also got some notes:

"Keep working that out."

"There is a great set in there."

"It's such a new thought."

So trust me, you will see it again someday—just a better version of it.

At the end of March, we got a rainstorm that flooded everything, but somehow my new comedian friend Catherine and I made it out to One More Joke at Mercury Music Lounge. There was no one there. Maybe 18 to 20 comedians. Catherine and I were all in—took front-row seats, laughed, and applauded like we were at a taping for Netflix. Make your own fun-is a constant in my personal motivation mantra.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that there are a couple of booked five-minute sets at One More Joke, and tonight the comedian on deck was none other than Jimmy Killius. Oh the Gods are smiling.

He got to the stage, took the mic, and did five minutes of hilarious self-deprecating humor about how he acts when he drinks. The bartender brought him a shot—to the stage—to add to the theater. All the while, unplanned but perfectly choreographed, I was in the front row and the next comedian to the mic.

Jimmy, my dear boy, don't be so hard on yourself. Everyone, I said, I want you to know I co-hosted with Jimmy a couple weeks back, and he sent me the nicest thank-you letter. Let me read it to you. Now that's how you use your assets!

That's my time.

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