Beached Wails : Michael Colyar Finds Venice Boardwalk the Perfect Place for : His Gritty Humor on Racism, Missing Children and AIDS.

Smiling devilishly, the comic spotted his victim in the crowd watching his act on the Venice Beach boardwalk--a young man wearing a white T-shirt.

“Now look at this man,” the comedian said. “When he wakes up in the morning, he’s pink. When he gets angry, he turns kinda red. When he’s cold, kinda blue. When he’s jealous, he turns kinda green.

“Now when I wake up in the morning, I’m brown. When I get angry, I’m brown. When I’m cold, I’m brown. When I’m jealous, I’m brown.

“And they call us colored people? Here’s your damn colored people.”

The crowd, mostly young and mostly white with a sprinkling of Asians, blacks and Latinos, ate it up. Some doubled over with laughter, and almost everyone reached in their pockets for dollar bills to give to Michael Colyar, the stand-up comedian who considers himself the king of Venice Beach.

Colyar, 31, has been attracting bigger crowds than most of the acts on the boardwalk for the past 3 1/2 years with a 75-minute show called “Life,” divided into three sections--racism, missing kids and AIDS. His routines also take a look at gangs, driving on the Los Angeles freeways and drug problems in Los Angeles. He calls it “conscious comedy,” jokes to make people aware of those and other social issues.

“When I make the people think and feel as well as laugh, that’s good,” Colyar said. “It’s comedy that can go everywhere.”

In addition, he noted, “the people pay more.”

With the littered sands of the beach as his backdrop and a weather-beaten gazebo for a stage, he sets up camp every Saturday, Sunday and holiday from noon to 5 p.m.

“In my show you must possess the ability to laugh at yourself,” Colyar warned his audience before he launched into an often profane barrage of jokes and insults aimed at almost every ethnic, religious and racial group.

“I am an equal opportunity comedian,” he said after delivering a joke about Latinos.

“I wouldn’t say anything about my Spanish brothers if I didn’t say anything about my black brothers and sisters. I don’t leave any groups unabused.

“I joke about racism, because racism is a joke,” Colyar told the crowd. “True intelligence transcends all color barriers. Just like asininity transcends all color barriers.”

Interspersed throughout his act are moralistic comedy routines.

“You!” he calls out, catching a spectator off guard during the start of the AIDS segment. “Do you use a condom each and every time you make love with your girlfriend?”

Although he writhes sexually for emphasis at each word of that question, his finish sounds like a public service announcement by the surgeon general: “AIDS is not God’s curse on society. . . . It is not a red communist plot to take over the world. It is a disease. . . . When you make love to someone today without the use or benefit of a condom, you’re making love to your partner’s entire sex history.”

“He’s a trip,” said Al Mincey of Hawthorne, who gave Colyar $5. “He’s very entertaining. It’s more than just funny--and it’s really funny--it’s educational.”

A product of the Southside Chicago projects, Colyar thinks of himself as a survivor. In his youth, “it was eat or be eaten,” he said.

Colyar struggled for nearly 12 years to make a living as an actor and comedian in Chicago’s small theaters and clubs. After being prodded by friends, he moved to street comedy and discovered that “people would pay me for being funny.”

His comic routine brought $5 and $1.80 his first 2 days out, but on the third day Colyar made $15 in 30 minutes.

After moderate success on the Chicago streets, Colyar promoted himself to Water Tower Place mall downtown, where “people had big money.”

“I told myself that if I could make $40 in a day I’d stay,” he said. His first day yielded $85.

However, “after my butt got too cold” in Chicago, Colyar headed for California. He was kicked off the streets of Hollywood and Westwood by police, and took sick during a winter on San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf.

Then he found Venice--a warm haven for eccentrics. There are no rules or restrictions on the boardwalk, where anyone can drop their hat and perform for passers-by. The entertainers include dancing human robots, jugglers and elderly disco roller skaters, but few attract a crowd as well as Colyar does. Shortly before he’s ready to begin his act, he climbs atop a wooden picnic table and shouts out jokes and announcements to draw curious pedestrians to his makeshift stage.

“It’s just 5 minutes till show time, folks!” he yells through cupped hands. “You could go over there”--pointing down the walkway--”and pay $1 for some greasy slice of pizza and another for some sour lemonade, or you could stand here and laugh . . . for the same price.”

A few minutes later, he climbs on the table again and shouts, “Y’all got 3 minutes!”

When about two dozen people have gathered, Colyar jumps down and begins the show. With the laughter and noise from the crowd serving as additional advertisement, he soon finds himself encircled by about 150 people.

For all his candor during performances, Colyar guards the details of his life away from the stage, surrendering only tidbits about his past and present. His only exception is when he talks about his 8-year-old son, Nicholas, who the comedian says is his life.

“He keeps me real,” said Colyar, who is divorced and has raised Nicholas alone for the past 4 years. “Without him to keep me in line, who knows what I could be doing out there?”

Colyar would not divulge how much money he takes in on the boardwalk each week, saying only that he makes enough to get by. He does not rely solely on the beach for his income, however, also playing private parties and local comedy clubs.

“I see 200 to 300 comics who come and go in a week, but he’s not like that,” said Jamie Masada, owner of the Laugh Factory club in Hollywood, who books Colyar from time to time.

Masada said Colyar’s stage presence and ability to work the audience are “very rare.” But, he said, the comic would have to modify his act to really make it in clubs--his routines may be a little too much for members of a more upscale crowd, who cannot walk away, if offended, as easily as people at the beach.

But there is little incentive for Colyar to concentrate on club work. He earns more on the beach than he could telling jokes indoors, according to a close friend, actor Wren Brown.

“His act enables him to make a good living,” Wren said. “He could get his rent, for $400, in his Saturday and Sunday shows.”

“I live by doing the beach,” Colyar agreed. “That’s how I raised my son.”

Like many performers who come to Los Angeles, Colyar would like to act, particularly in high-paying television and films.

“You don’t stay in Chicago if you’re an actor, it’s just not where it’s all at,” he said.

“I came out here to do comedy, to do something to eat,” Colyar said. “Since I was so good at it, I stuck with it. By working the streets of L.A., I have the opportunity to always be showcasing my talents.”

He found his manager through a producer who saw his act on the beach. He also won minor roles in the movies “Hollywood Shuffle,” “Johnny Be Good” and “Necessity.”

So Colyar continues to peddle his pungent humor each weekend on the beach, confident that eventually he will rise from the sand to the screen.

“I’m going to replace Eddie Murphy,” he said.