So apparently Eric Andre wasn’t allowed to get naked on stage, which was disappointing. What was not disappointing was his announcement of season five of The Eric Andre Show and a soon-to-come Netflix special. To be honest, I wouldn’t have felt completely immersed in the Andre experience unless his penis was hanging out in front of the audience. He apologized profusely and otherwise delivered an excellent set, which was run by the Cornell University Program Board.
The “blewish cashew” (black/Jew, Catholic/Jew in his own words) joked about being so incredibly high that he was ripping grass out of the ground during a very mellow Snoop Dogg song, the absolute insanity that is the third amendment and how God hates hip thrusting. Really, though, “absolute insanity” is an apt description for Andre’s entire show.
A comedian named Sarah Squirm opened for Andre, and her schtick was primarily obscene sex jokes. Squirm’s set was funny at first, but it grew old, and a 10-minute presentation mocking high school health classes was about nine minutes too long. According to her, if you didn’t laugh, you hate women. Sorry, mom.
One thing I always wonder while watching The Eric Andre Show is if the man ever gets tired. On screen, he’s running around, breaking desks and vomiting onto cheap curtains. On stage, he ran around, gently threw a stool to the ground and coughed a few times, I think. But he also screamed until he was red in the face and “burst a vein in [his] butt.” His energy was truly endless, which was especially surprising since I consider myself to be sorta-kinda in shape and I was out of breath from laughing after just 15 minutes.
After ranting about an absurd souvenier he purchased in Cuba, Andre transitioned into a bit where he asked for audience volunteers and texted their moms. He hit the auto-suggest button to compose a nonsensical message and then sent it to unassuming mothers, much to the delight of the crowd. I would have offered my phone up, but there was a fifty-fifty chance my mom would have ignored the text (and then I would have looked like a real idiot) and also he wouldn’t accept Androids. I guess I’m switching phones over spring break because if Eric Andre doesn’t like me, I’m nobody.
One mom was so worried about her son that she called back, leading to a hilarious sequence where Andre attempted to imitate the student and made her quite worried. Retroactively, I actually declined to offer my phone up because I didn’t want my mom to fret over my well-being. I’m doing good, mom. I was only passed out in a ditch for 15 minutes last night.
In my preview earlier this week (that I’m sure you have read), I guessed Andre’s performance would include some inappropriate humor, potentially some music, and I prayed to the high heavens for some ranch dressing. The first prediction was met about seven seconds after he walked on stage and he made a quip about Louis C.K. You can hypothesize what it was about. He also treated the audience to some lovely, slightly off-key reggae interspersed with imitations of the show Cops. But as the clock ticked closer to 8:45 p.m. and there was a distinct lack of salad sauce, I grew concerned. No nudity and no ranch?
Andre invited two audience members on the stage to compete in a ranch-drinking contest. They each drank an entire bottle of ranch dressing. A whole bottle. I can’t remember who won, but they both definitely lost. That should be fun for them later.
Overall, the show was well worth the cost of admission — which, for me, was a series of emails with CUPB to get free press passes; get flexed on — and I’m sure any fool who purchased one of those severely overpriced resale tickets might have broken even. Andre is clearly more than a wacky TV lunatic. He’s a real-life lunatic, too! And isn’t that what every mother wants?
This post has been updated to include information about the program organizer.
Jeremy Markus is a freshman in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.