Stars Can’t Dead Improv and Comedy Show Jasmine Tree 401 SW Harrison, 223-7956, Tuesday, 8 pm, $3
Dear Stars Can't Dead Improv and Comedy Show, Here's what I don't understand: You heckle the Mercury for coverage, but when someone finally comes to cover your show (i.e. me), you just talk shit about us--I mean, what'd you think was going to happen? That we'd give you a 3,000-word cover story about how "edgy" and "daring" you are for trashing us while a reporter's there?

C'mon--you seem smarter than that. You should realize the power of this little newspaper. (I mean, that's why you wanted Mercury coverage in the first place, wasn't it?) Quite simply, WE COULD DESTROY YOU.

O.K. Not really. Maybe WE COULD REVIEW YOU is more accurate. But that's not nearly as threatening, because--shit, you're pretty damn funny. Your video sketch about the guy who's possessed by a Dokken t-shirt? Rad. Or that one about the guy who goes into a coffee shop, buys a cup of coffee, walks out, then calmly dumps it all over a guy sitting outside, scalding him? Fucking brilliant.

If there's one thing to criticize, it's your unoriginal improv games. But then, you guys feed off of each other enough to make them genuinely clever... so I can't really rip on that, either. Sigh.

So what's left? Oh, right! The standup comedy, which felt like an open mic bitch-fest... except for Jihad Qutub's routine, which focused on how Stars Can't Dead can't get Mercury coverage. It's probably just my narcissism, but that Mercury riff was the best part of the show--like how we're so bitter that you can tear off a piece of our paper and taste it (true!), or how everyone at the Mercury does meth and/or coke (you have no idea!), or how when you walk into the offices asking for publicity they're less than friendly (you're telling me!), or how Justin Sanders' reviews suck (hey, I like to talk shit about Justin Sanders, too!).

But my favorite part was how one minute you guys were press whores, begging for us to be there, and the next you hated us. No, wait--my favorite was when you said our offices were at "Twenty-first and No Circulation Avenue." Hey, jackasses--we're at Twenty-Third and No Circulation Avenue! ERIK HENRIKSEN