So. Where were we?
Ah, yes. Mitch Hedberg.
I think I was in junior high when I fell in love with Mitch Hedberg. I saw him on Comedy Central (I think this was back when it was just called The Comedy Channel. Also, I was watching via the super old-school satellite dishes. The kind that take up a whole side of your yard, and you’d have to press the number of the satellite, and the dish would move and pass over other satellites, so you’d see glimpses of, like, Japanese cooking shows and the NASA channel, and in a few seconds, you’d be on the right satellite, and then you’d have to pick what channel you wanted on that satellite. I think The Comedy Channel was on satellite F4. That satellite had all the best channels.)
Anyway, the first few times I saw him, I came in late and missed his name. And this was before the days of the almighty guide button. So I just called him the beatnik comic. And I decided that someday he would be my mistress.
So, years went by. At some point I learned his name. And my love for him remained strong. Then, in college, I (finally) met a few people who knew and loved him almost as much as I did.
One day, word came through the internet that Mitch Hedberg was coming to DFW. Yay!
But also – I was quite poor. I couldn’t afford a ticket, so I couldn’t go to the show. Boo.
But I decided I still needed to seize this opportunity. One of my friends was going, and so I sent a pair of my underwear along with him for Mitch Hedberg to sign. (A friend of mine also sent her underwear. Her name is [REDACTED].)
Now, my friend who was going to the show was named Charles (pronounced CHAR’ less*). Charles and I had been like siblings from the start. We even called each other brother and sister (whichever was gender-appropriate, depending on who was speaking). My friend, [REDACTED], also referred to Charles as her brother. This is important to the story.
So Charles goes to the comedy show, and afterward, knowing that an unspeakable penalty awaits him if he comes back with unsigned panties**, hurries around the back of the club to catch Mitch Hedberg before he leaves. And he’s just in time – Mitch and his entourage, including a woman whose name I can only assume is Lynn with two Ns, are almost at the getaway car.
Charles shouts, “Mister Hedberg!”
They turn to look.
“Could I get your autograph?”
They give some kind of affirmative response. Charles goes up to Mitch Hedberg, and hands him…two pairs of panties.
They all look at him. They look at the panties. At him again.
Charles is a strapping young man, but these panties just don’t look like they would fit him.
Charles says, “It’s okay, they’re not mine. They’re my sisters’.”
Now they look even more confused.
Lynn-with-two-Ns protests. “Ew. Don’t sign those. You don’t know where they’ve been.”
Mitch Hedberg bravely takes the panties and says, “I never signed panties before.”
And then he signed them. Mine and [REDACTED]’s. With his actual hand.
And here’s the proof, modeled by my couch pillow:
When choosing which panties you want signed by a celebrity, it is imperative that you pick something cute.
Also, apparently Mitch Hedberg kept the cap to Charles’s sharpie. I’ve never heard the end of that. A perfectly good sharpie gone to waste, all so I could have my panties signed.
Yeah, I hear you Charles. What a goddamn tragedy.*I can’t figure out how to make a schwa. Just pretend that E is a schwa. **I don’t know what. But I’m creative, I could’ve figured something out. I think I gave him some sort of vague threat involving his balls.