Burger King

Neil Hamburger reigns over anti-humor.

by Ben Kharakh

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Anti-humor might be a tough sell, but that hasn't stopped Neil Hamburger from putting on a wrinkled tux and performing hundreds of perplexingly, pathetically funny shows per year. The hard work's paid off with appearances on Jimmy Kimmel Live and an opening slot on Tenacious D's arena tour, but it's also taken a toll on the funny man's health. "There's nothing as wonderful as a new washcloth, but eventually it gets torn, discolored, worn out and tired," he says. "That, essentially, is what's happened to me." Fortunately, there's a robot replacement lined up.

City Paper: What would your ideal funeral be like?

Neil Hamburger: A screening of my full-length movie, which had been completed by my death, followed by reminiscences from other comedians saying that they'd only dreamed of having the sort of success that I achieved. And then, finally, the band strikes up, the coffin is brought up, and when they lift the lid I pop out and say, "Folks, I'm still alive and I'm not going anywhere!" That's the ideal funeral. Mostly, when they have these funerals, people don't pop out. They get buried and that's the end of them. That's not great. I don't wish that on anyone.

CP: Not even on Carrot Top?

NH: What I'd really prefer for Carrot Top is that he get out of comedy and into professional baseball. They don't test comedians for steroids, so he'd be right under the radar.

CP: I've always wondered why Carrot Top is so popular.

NH: Mind control. I don't know why the mind control people want everyone to go to a Carrot Top show, but apparently they do.

CP: How far does this conspiracy go?

NH: Have you heard of Maroon 5? There's no reason to attend one of their concerts, unless someone's manipulated your brainwaves, which they can do now with remote control. They don't even need to put you in for surgery like they used to when they were introducing some of these substandard entertainers like Pat Boone. Now, you're shopping for groceries, there's a guy looking through a one-way mirror in the ceiling of a supermarket implanting this Carrot Top seed into your brain.

CP: Technology never ceases to amaze me.

NH: Me neither. Can you believe that a fan of mine has built a life-sized Neil Hamburger robot? It can move and it's got the tuxedo and everything.

CP: Are you going to try to incorporate it into your act?

NH: What I might do is haul the robot out onstage while I sign CDs and sell souvenir trinkets.

CP: You'd rather have the robot tell the jokes for you?

NH: Well, I don't know how personal it would be to have a robot sign your albums. Let's say you wrote a letter to the president saying, "What you're doing is just absolutely terrible." And he writes back saying, "Dear Constituent, I'm not so happy with what you're doing, either. Sincerely, George W. Bush." You'd think you've got a letter worth framing, but when you find out he's got a robot signing it you're heartbroken, and I couldn't do that.

Neil Hamburger

Mon., Sept. 3, 9 p.m., $10, Johnny Brenda's, 1201 N. Frankford Ave., 215-739-9684www.johnnybrendas.com