My Comical Laundrette

Christy Murphy’s idea--to stage a comedy night at a Laundromat--is pretty funny, although far from the funniest joke in the world, which is when you die laughing. Until that happens, this weekly gig will have to suffice.

It was a warm summer evening for last Wednesday’s opening night of “All Washed Up” at the Holly Hills Coin Laundry, where the Maytags were washing away and the dryers were getting the whirlies as they have been known to do.

This particular Laundromat is in Victor’s Square, part of a basic strip mall at the corner of Franklin and Bronson avenues, an eclectic neighborhood that’s a favorite of young Hollywood. It’s a little bit larger than Laundroland in West L.A., where Murphy, a 26-year-old aspiring comedian, began this weekly bazaar of the bizarre three months ago before decamping to this part of town.

“All Washed Up” is a prime example of maximizing the potential of seemingly disparate uses, sort of like putting Marilyn Manson and Englebert Humperdinck on the same bill. (And while we’re on the subject, when you’re wasting your few good years waiting in line at the supermarket with an ice cream headache, shouldn’t they be showing vintage Warner Brothers cartoons or something?)

Likewise: Waiting + laundry = boring. Enter Murphy with a better plan: Waiting + laundry + comedy = mild entertainment. That’s because there are not enough magazines and maybe not even enough beer to make doing the laundry tolerable, thus making “All Washed Up” a lurch in the right direction, especially when it’s funny.

“Not Responsible For Loss Or Damage No Tinting Or Dyeing” reads the sign on the wall of this and every Laundromat. All the dying here had to do with the comedians, a few of whom were as funny as the Giants ahead of the Dodgers or the tow truck in the parking lot, but more on that later.

Here’s how it works: A stand-up mike is plugged into the wall by the door of the Holly Hills Coin Laundry. People do their laundry, comics do their shticks. It’s a kinder, gentler, more thoughtful comedy night at the Laundromat, as free soap and fabric softener are provided for the forgetful.

There are also other advantages of a night at the Laundromat, as opposed to a basic night on the town: no dress code, no long lines, no drink minimum and no bouncers that hate your face. Also, the price tag for this cultural corny-copia is the ever-affordable “free.” (Even the change machines work--harder, unfortunately, than some of the comics.)

Murphy has no logical explanation for any of this except: “I wanted to combine the two biggest horrors of my life--the state of my wardrobe and my comedy career.” Although she works as a trademark investigator, “I used to sell strippers, well, lease them really, to bachelor parties and write phone sex ads.”

Just then a guy began to use the nearby change machine. “When people are getting change, I close my eyes and pretend I’m playing Vegas.”

Brett Gilbert, Murphy’s roadie and one of the comedians, held the watch that keeps comedians to a five-minute limit. At the mike, he had a funny bit about what happens when death-loving, sun-hating Goth kids get their wish and die. (The pale bodies are sent home and their parents try to make them seem as if they actually had a life by dressing the corpses as fun-loving yuppies.)

Gilbert went on to describe the terror he experienced being raised by born-again Christians, and asked rhetorically who was the real heavy in the Bible. God, he noted, killed millions and is on record as threatening millions more. Meanwhile, the Devil didn’t kill anyone, but just tempted a couple of people.

Regular Tom Ryan’s funniest bit concerned pop teen queen Britney Spears: “It’s hard to pass MTV without stopping because you want to know what’s happening. Then there’s Britney Spears, who I find completely unlistenable . . . but not unwatchable. I actually ran into Britney Spears the other day, but I didn’t recognize her without the ‘Mute’ sign next to her.”

For some reason, an Australian television crew was taping the show, and doing a good job of getting in the way of the comics and laundry folk. (Perhaps they were getting even for that episode of “The Simpsons.”)

In any case, comedian Dave Feinman, a stereotypically obnoxious New Yorker, gave Australia what for, little of which can be repeated here. Suffice it to say, he won’t be quoted in any of Australia’s future tourism promotions. Nor will Joe Wilson, who was also funny but equally unquotable, except for his Down Under joke: “Hey, we used to be a prison. Come visit us.”

The comedy show is scheduled to take place, rain or shine, Dodgers home or away, every Wednesday from 8-9:30 p.m. Comedians must arrange with Murphy ahead of time to get on the bill; walk-ons are not welcome.

The whole thing was sort of like tickling the choir, because even the unfunny comedians got laughs as about half the 50 or so people were comedians or their friends. Only about 10 people were there just to do laundry, though some of the performers brought their wash.

The only drawback to the mirth was the existence of the most insidious invention in the entire history of Western Civilization, the pay toilet, which was--surprise--out of order. The joke was on the beer drinkers.

And naturally, there was a straight man--the liquor store guy from a few doors down, who was irate because the parking lot was full, which he alleged was ruining his business. He called a tow truck and someone’s Volvo took an unscheduled road trip. Someone should call the authorites on him for charging three bucks for a single Sapporo, because that’s not even funny.

“All Washed Up,” Holly Hills Coin Laundry, 1925 N. Bronson Ave., Hollywood. (818) 908-3478.